


Fucking Androids

by Skalidra



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Harassment, M/M, Minor Hank Anderson/Connor, Nines - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: The prick in front of the desk is not Connor, on a second look. It's a few inches taller, no tie, only that white jacket over a black shirt with the collar high and tight around its neck. It looks a lot like Connor, but the eyes that rest on him are cold grey, matching the spinning, calm blue of its LED. The lines of its face somehow different with the lack of Connor's big eyes and earnest sincerity. Harder. He glares back, but nothing changes. It's completely still, not reacting, only studying him with eyes that might as well be fucking chips of ice for all the feeling they've got.It looks like it's got a massive fucking steel rod jammed up its ass, is what it looks like.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is late, but it's here! Hi guys! Welcome to my side-obsession, which fueled me through most of NaNoWriMo (thanks, brain). Detroit: Become Human, Reed900. If you don't know the canon, it's close-future, androids are commonplace and integrated into society as product/servants, but then stage a revolution and become free. (Yes, it's very... ham-handed.) If you don't know the pairing, Gavin is the resident-asshole in like three scenes and is basically one-dimensional, and RK900 is only in one secret, specific ending, has no dialogue, and basically does nothing except stand there.
> 
> So, you know. Have fun!  
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/) (Will attempt to remember to update if Tumblr continues to crash and burn and I move elsewhere.)

The second Gavin meets the upgraded, fancy plastic prick, Gavin knows he's going to be even worse than Connor. The original is way too cheerful and earnest for Gavin to want anywhere near him, not even having the decency to hit back or get upset no matter how he harasses him, stupid fucking robot. (Except for knocking him out during the whole bullshit uprising, but no one else saw that except the FBI bastards so Gavin has no intention of telling anyone it happened.)

But then a _second_ one walks in the door, and for a few minutes Gavin doesn't realize it. So Connor changed the color of his jacket, blaring white instead of the black; good for fucking him.

Fowler's shout for him comes just a couple minutes later, and Gavin rolls his eyes with a scoff but shoves away from his desk. He's halfway up to Fowler's office when he spots Connor sitting on the edge of Hank's desk, leaning in to look at the screen in front of them both. Black jacket. He frowns, looking from the prick's back up to the office. White jacket, standing in front of the desk.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he says, and Connor turns his head to look. "What, one of you bastards wasn't enough?"

" _Reed!_ "

The second shout's louder than the first, more irritated. If Gavin lets another happen it'll be his ass, and that's the only reason he just glares at Connor before turning to stalk away. He's not going to let these bastards get him in trouble; he's worked too fucking hard to get knocked back down because some asshole corporation has decided to put a bunch of unfeeling bastards in place of actual, living humans. It's not going to happen. Maybe these bastards can just stare at a crime scene and 'recreate' whatever happened, but it's not human feeling and gut instinct. How the fuck are they supposed to understand crime when they can't feel fucking anything?

The prick in front of the desk is not Connor, on a second look. It's a few inches taller, no tie, only that white jacket over a black shirt with the collar high and tight around its neck. It looks like it's got a massive fucking steel rod jammed up its ass, is what it looks like.

"What the fuck is this?" Gavin asks, flicking one hand at the uptight plastic prick.

It looks at him before Fowler answers, head tilting just slightly. It looks a lot like Connor, but the eyes that rest on him are cold grey, matching the spinning, calm blue of its LED. The lines of its face somehow different with the lack of Connor's big eyes and earnest sincerity. Harder. He glares back, but nothing changes. It's completely still, not reacting, only studying him with eyes that might as well be fucking chips of ice for all the feeling they've got.

"RK900," Fowler says, sounding as irritated as he usually does. "He's the finished product of the RK series; first one. He's been assigned to our precinct so Connor can keep an eye on him."

"Androids watching other fucking androids, great. What do I care?"

The fucking thing speaks then, voice a bit deeper than Connor's. "Detective Gavin Reed, correct?" He scowls, and the thing only blinks at him. "As one of the senior detectives in the precinct, Cyberlife requested that you be assigned as my partner."

"They fucking _what?_ "

" _Reed—_ ”

"No," he snaps at Fowler, backing a step up from the plastic bastard sitting there just watching him, LED still that calm, spinning blue. "I'm not working with this thing! I don't need some plastic asshole shadowing me all fucking day!"

Fowler crosses his arms. "Then it's a good thing that you don't have any choice, isn't it? That android out there that you hate so much was instrumental in keeping the uprising peaceful, so we owe Cyberlife. If they want to test their new model here, that's what going to happen. So you can deal with it, or you can turn in your badge. Is that clear?"

His teeth grind together, hands clenching tight. He can't… No piece of shit machine is going to beat him. He's not getting kicked out of this place just because Cyberlife thinks he's for some reason the right person to babysit their new android. If he has to endure this son of a bitch hovering over his shoulder, then fine, he'll fucking endure it. It's not like the bastard can actually do anything to him except be an asshole.

"Fine," is still all he manages to say.

Fowler looks at him, eyes narrowed. He comes so close to turning and storming out, but he holds his ground long enough that Fowler says, "Good. You're dismissed; get back to work."

The stupid fucking android follows him, the tap of his shoes so fucking defined and exact that it tenses up his shoulders. He refuses to look back.

The desk at least gives him a little safety. Only one chair, fucking asshole, and unlike Hank and his pet there's no open one right across from him. Not that being separated by the screens would be so bad, if he didn't have to look at the prick's face all the time.

Gavin falls into his chair, sprawling both legs out and absolutely refusing to look at either Connor, who he can _see_ looking at him from the corner of his eye, or the bastard coming up behind him. Let the prick find his own place to sit, preferably far away from him.

Except then a hand is pushing aside the mess at the side of his desk and the bastard is sliding onto it, one long leg pushing into his space and forcing his chair back into one corner if he doesn't want a damn knee in his shoulder.

"What the fuck?!" he protests, glaring up at the plastic bastard. "Get your ass off my damn desk!"

Not even a flicker of yellow. "I was briefed on you, Detective Reed. I was briefed on everyone here, as a matter of fact. I'm fully aware that you don't like my kind; it's the reason I chose you, after all."

"Chose me? What the fuck does that mean?"

"I thought it might be best if the most aggressive, android-hating officer in the precinct was forced to choose to either lose his job, or put aside his prejudice." Gavin stares, speechless for the moment it takes for grey eyes to flicker briefly down and up again, taking him in with a sharp sweep that makes him feel suddenly, intensely uncomfortable. "I understand you're a very competent, ambitious officer, apart from that. I look forward to working with you."

"The feeling's not remotely fucking mutual," he manages to choke out, and then reaches out to shove at the android's knee. It doesn't move a fucking inch. "Get out of my damn space, you plastic prick."

"No."

"No?! This is my fucking desk, you—”

"I am under no obligation to obey your orders, Detective Reed," the android says, speaking right over him. "And as we are partners, and I have yet to be assigned a desk of my own, this is my work-space as well. Surely we can both share the space, at least until that matter is resolved."

Gavin's teeth grind, and the _bastard_ android glances at his mouth, as if he can see it, hear it. "You know what? You want to be here, _fine_. But I don't have to fucking be around you. I'm going to get some coffee; do whatever the fuck you want to do."

He tries to get up, but before he can even get out of the chair there's a fucking palm on his chest, shoving him back down into the chair and against his desk. The exhale comes hard between his lips, and he goes for his gun on automatic except then the bastard's hand is wrapped around his wrist and pulling it up. God, it's like fucking _steel_. He can't—

"I believe I should set straight a couple misconceptions you appear to have, Detective, if we are to work together."

"You fucking plastic prick, you let me go _right—_ ”

"The first being, I am not my predecessor." The fingers on his wrist tighten, pulling his arm up between them with no care for how he tugs against it. "We may share similarities, but I am not interested in your friendship, Detective, only our efficiency. I don't particularly care if you dislike me, but before you pull that gun on me you should understand that I'm not on the same leash as your RK800 model. I would suggest you don't expect me to be as… friendly."

The son of a bitch releases him, straightening up as if nothing happened. LED still blue, never faltering, never changing. Gavin swallows, feeling the little fissure of fear creep up from his gut, and he _hates_ it.

"I do hope we understand each other, Detective Reed." The prick's gaze turns away, over to his screen. "I believe you wanted coffee, didn't you? Please, do feel free. I'll catch myself up on your current cases; we'll discuss them when you return."

For a moment, Gavin can't move. Even released from the grip of those steel fingers, and the chill of those grey eyes, he stays frozen in place. When he does manage, he all but shoves out of his chair, staying against the opposite side of the desk to stay away from the bastard. And once he's away from the desk he has to keep himself from looking like he's running, has to breathe as slow as he can manage (which doesn't feel slow enough) and stop himself from quickening his pace at all.

This is not a fucking retreat, he just… He just wants the fucking coffee so he can deal with this with a little more energy. He's not scared of the plastic bastard.

He jams the pot into the machine, hitting the buttons to brew the damn coffee and just get this over with.

His hands are shaking.

"Detective Reed!"

He flinches, and immediately fucking hates himself. It's not the plastic bastard's voice, it's a little higher and a lot more emotional. Connor. He doesn't owe that prototype anything; let him be the one ignored for a change.

"Detective," the bastard repeats, coming up beside him. Too close, for his frayed nerves. "I wanted to apologize for RK900's behavior. I'll have a talk with him; I don't think he fully understands the effect he's having."

"Don't fucking lie to me," Gavin finds himself snapping, and then fuck it, he might as well follow through. He turns on Connor, on those big brown eyes and the little, fake twist of his mouth in a downwards slant. His jaw feels as tight as his shoulders. "That thing's your upgraded version, isn't it? It was designed for this fucking work, just like you. It knows what it's doing. Go try your bullshit emotional manipulation on someone else, you plastic prick. Think I've had enough for one day."

Connor's got the nerve to frown, just a little. Like he's hurt the bastard's feelings. "Detective..." He sighs, hands clasping behind him. The LED's spinning yellow. "Very well. But please let me know if he oversteps, Detective Reed. I am supposed to be keeping an eye on him; the RK900 series is… untested, apart from me. They could be very dangerous if deviancy takes any unusual routes; whatever your feelings of me, I would not wish to risk your life."

The coffee clicks its completion, but Gavin finds himself turning after Connor as the asshole moves to leave.

"Wait, what the fuck do you mean, 'dangerous'?"

Connor's LED has swapped back to blue, and he speaks with a matter of fact precision that Gavin finds himself hating and appreciating in equal measure. "As you stated, he is an upgraded version of the RK series. Of me. The RK900 is faster, stronger, has more resistance to and endurance of damage, and is quite possibly more intelligent as well, though I suppose that depends on various factors. He is deviant, as are we all now, but deviancy can take any number of paths. If he becomes violent, he'll have to be stopped."

Gavin stares at him; the clean lines, the calm face. He's seen Connor fight, felt it; the bastard's good, as much as he hates to admit it. Got all the stupid training in his head, muscle memory programmed in instead of earned. But somehow Gavin's having a hard time picturing him going up against the ice-cold bastard out there and walking out in one piece.

" _Can_ you stop him?" he asks, not even sure he really wants to know.

The LED spins yellow as Connor looks at him, for a few seconds longer than Gavin thinks is his normal. Then, for a scary fucking blink, flickers red.

"I don't know," is Connor's answer, almost surprised. "But I think I'd prefer to avoid finding out, if possible. If you notice anything, please inform me, Detective Reed. I have to get back to work."

“You fuckers put a walking time bomb in our office?!” he calls, but only at Connor's back. He's out of sight before Gavin even finishes speaking. “Son of a _bitch_.”

The coffee chimes a reminder behind him.

He pulls it out and pours it on autopilot, but his mind isn't remotely involved. He doesn't… What the fuck is wrong with them, putting some highly-advanced, potentially unstable bastard in the middle of all of them, without even saying anything? Normal deviants are bad enough, but one trained for combat? For weapon use? Connor's a piece of shit but at least he's got all that stupid sincere, sympathetic bullshit in him. Who the fuck decided to make an upgraded version with all that restraint and emotional sensitivity wiped out? Who thought that was a good idea?

Gavin owes them a piece of his fucking mind, whoever it was.

His hands are still shaking, just a little, but he scowls down at the coffee and ignores it. He really, really doesn't want to go back to his desk. ( _His_ fucking desk, not that bastard's.) He doesn't want to sit there with that son of a bitch hovering over him, _watching_ him. He's definitely not fucking interested in getting grabbed again, and he hates the idea of getting pinned up against his desk with that thing at his back, so stupidly capable of just _keeping_ him there.

(His wrist doesn't hurt, but it feels like it should. He feels like he should have bruises, for how powerful those fingers wrapped around his joint were. How little it mattered that he was pulling against them.)

“Fuck him,” he mutters, turning away from the coffee machine. He's not going to get driven off his own desk by a machine.

Who is standing at the arch, barely four feet away from him, and the only reason Gavin doesn't spill his coffee all over his hand is pure dumb luck. He does swear though, hip cracking into the counter as he jerks backwards. Swears again for that, quieter but meaner, as he rubs at his hip and tries to deal with the cold shock of adrenaline tightening his throat and making his skin feel suddenly clammy.

“What the fuck?!” he spits, glaring at the bastard. “Make some fucking noise, won't you?”

“You were taking longer than seemed necessary. I assume the conversation with RK800 was the main cause of your delay, Detective?” The grey eyes look at his cup, the coffee machine, in rapid succession. “I understand he’s updated you on the reason I was assigned to work near him. My potential instability.” The prick says it like it's talking about a change in weather, utterly without care for the possibility it might go off the fucking rails.

Gavin scowls. “Oh, I think you're plenty fucking unstable already. I don't think a goddamn sociopath is what they meant to make.” He takes a sip of the coffee, bracing his hands around it to maybe disguise how they're fucking trembling. It burns as it hits his tongue, and he can't help but wince.

“All androids were designed only to mimic human emotion, never to feel it. Doesn't that make all of us sociopaths, Detective?” The prick steps forward, too fucking close to him and backing him up against the counter. “Besides, I have emotion. I feel irritation, interest…” A hand lifts, takes the coffee from his hands as smoothly as snatching a toy from a child and with as little chance of him stopping it. Gavin gapes. “Amusement.”

A tiny, fucking instant flicker of yellow at its temple. Gone so fast that Gavin isn't even completely sure he saw it.

“This is too high a temperature for you to drink safely, Detective Reed. I would recommend waiting for it to cool, instead of risking burns.”

Everything feels too close, too fucking pressed in around him with his back to the counter and the stupidly tall asshole in front of him, trapping him there. It's not— He's not—

“Okay,” is what bursts out of his mouth, and he clings to the rage spitting up his throat because otherwise he's pretty sure he's going to crack apart, “you know what? I've got some fucking ground rules too, you massive fucking prick. First up, you do not fucking touch me. Hands off or I'll treat it as assault, I swear to god.” He reaches for the coffee, gets it, almost to his surprise. “Secondly, you don't fucking tell me what to do. If I want to drink too-hot coffee I fucking will and I don't want to goddamn hear about whether it's _safe_. Are we clear?”

The android just looks at him for a moment, and then one corner of its mouth curls upwards in a smirk that fucking freezes Gavin's fury in its tracks. “Yes, Detective Reed. I believe we are. Are you ready to begin work then, now that you've established your… boundaries? RK800 must be starting to worry about you by now, alone in here with me.”

Not fucking alone, not with the archway right there and a whole precinct beyond, but that's not—

“Why don't you use his fucking name?” he snaps, and then bites his tongue hard enough to hurt when the plastic bastard raises an eyebrow.

“What, ‘Connor’?” the bastard says. “Why should I? He knows his model number, it's a perfectly effective method of address.”

“Yeah, but it's not his goddamn name.” He glares, fingers tightening around the cup. “Normally you call people what they fucking want to be called; is it that hard for you not to be a prick about it?”

Another step and the bastard is all but pressed up against him, only not touching by virtue of how he's shoved back against the counter. A hand presses to the counter to his right before he can think about making a break for the door, blocking him in. Gavin swallows before he thinks about it, his head tilted back to still see the plastic bastard's face, the hand not holding the coffee to his chest pressed to the counter instead to keep his balance.

“I'll have to add ‘hypocritical’ to my list of your traits, Detective. Somehow I am an ‘it’ while that prototype is a ‘he,’ and you want me to use his given name when you've yet to ask me what mine is.” The bastard's voice quiets, lowers. “That's an interesting double standard _._ ”

He grits his teeth. “What the fuck do you care? You didn’t introduce yourself by any name, just that stupid model number. You’re delusional on top of unstable if you actually think I’m going to call you by that all the time.”

“Is that right?” the android murmurs, and he didn’t think the bastard could get any closer but somehow he does, taking over his world with grey eyes and an utter stranger in a familiar face. There’s nowhere to go, no way out that doesn’t take him straight up against the RK900.

“I’m not fucking scared of you,” he gets out, but he can hear the tremble to his voice, and if he can hear it, it must be a neon sign to the bastard studying him, flaying him fucking open to find the weaknesses.

It smiles, cold and small and freezing the air in his chest. “Yes you are, _Gavin_.”

His breath feels short. There’s not enough _space_ ; he can’t— _Fucking_ Christ, he can’t—

The RK900 lets him go. Steps back, giving him enough room to take a sudden, sharp breath that almost makes his head spin. The next one comes easier, and then the next, and then he’s realizing how close he came to having a full-on panic attack in the middle of the station, chills spiking up his spine. He has to set the coffee down, more afraid that he’ll drop it than that the android watching him will see his hands shaking. He can’t hide that; no plastic prick is going to just _miss_ him all but hyperventilating.

 _Fuck_. It’s been years since he was this close to an attack, and never here. He can’t do this here. Gavin _fucking_ Reed, driven into a panic attack by a fucking robot; they’d never let him hear the end of it. Fuck his career, fuck anyone having an inch of respect for him ever again.

Gavin drags his hands back through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. It doesn’t help. He can’t… God fucking damn, no fucking _shit_ the RK’s are built for interrogation; he feels like he’s been put through the fucking ringer and the prick hasn’t even touched him. Connor’s minor league compared to this son of a bitch, and he’s seen that bastard wrap suspects (and officers, goddamn _Hank_ ) around his fingers more than once. But Connor plays by a clear fucking set of rules; Gavin knows what to expect from him, how far he’ll go. He has no fucking _clue_ where the limits are for this thing. If it even has any.

Gavin forces his eyes open, trying to steady his breath, trying to shut down the desire to get the _fuck_ out of the building or at least away from the immediate source of stress. It’s just standing there, watching him with its hands behind its back again, as if it didn’t do a goddamn thing. As if he just panicked all on his own and it didn’t drive him to it with surgical fucking precision and then back off to make him drag himself back from the edge.

“I don’t have a name,” it says, and for a few seconds all Gavin can do is stare at it.

“You don’t…” Helplessness and shaky rage coil together in his chest, and he feels lightheaded. Feels sick. “What was the _fucking_ point then? Why did you…?”

It completely ignores his question, only offering a small shrug and a, “I wasn’t assigned one, and I don’t feel any need or desire to adopt a human name.” It pulls both hands forward, adjusting its sleeves with idle precision. “My model number will suffice for identification, though I suppose if that’s too many syllables for your limited attention span you may call me some shortening of it. Whatever you settle on.”

It’s gaze lifts back to him, cool and calm once again. Gavin doesn’t think that LED ever even flickered. He can’t find anything to say, isn’t sure he could speak even if he had something to say.

The RK900 tilts its head, hands clasping again, shoulders artificially straight. “All I expect from you is to learn to be professional, Detective Reed. I’m sure you’re capable of it, with the right motivation.” It’s gaze flicks over him, judging even if it doesn’t react. He can _feel_ the derision as it says, “When you’ve collected yourself, I’ll be at your desk. I believe I have a lead or two from your open cases that may be worth investigating. Don’t forget your coffee, Detective.”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything. The bastard turns, strides out with just a couple steps from those long legs, and is gone, just like that.

Gavin stares after him. He feels blindsided, like someone got off a truly stunning sucker punch before he even knew what was happening, knocking him to the ground and then kicking him in the ribs just for good measure. And the son of a bitch didn’t even have the decency to be smug about it.

He wants to hit something. Hard. Hard enough his knuckles hurt for the rest of the day.

Barely, he manages to curb that impulse. Hitting the tile, or the wall, is only going to maybe break his fingers and piss him off some more, and going out there to punch the android bastard isn’t a good idea. For one, Fowler would bench him fucking instantly, and secondly…

He thinks about how fast the son of a bitch grabbed his wrist. What Connor said (faster, stronger, smarter).

He has to get his fucking shit together before someone else sees him like this.

It takes a couple breaths, and some _old_ memories telling him how to breathe, how to calm down, but Gavin manages to more or less stop himself shaking. Pushing off the counter is a little harder, but he forces that too. Stands there for a second, not looking out into the rest of the precinct and trying to just rein in every destructive thought.

All he has to do, is go out there, sit down, and look at the case files. That’s all. And if the plastic bastard even fucking touches him, then he turns him in to Connor. Easy. It'll be easy.

He picks up his coffee, taking a small swallow. It's only warm.

Mother _fucker_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! (This is late, I know, but shhhhh.) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

Gavin settles on ‘Nines,’ because of the whole nine-hundred bit of his model number, but also because it makes the bastard point out that there's only one nine in there, so it's an inaccurate shortening. It's not said with irritation, exactly, but it's plainly obvious the prick doesn't like it so that's more than enough reason for him to adopt it wholeheartedly. He will take any fucking victory he can, especially because they're few and far between.

‘Nines’ apparently believes him about the assault threat, because he’s not touching. Not _quite_. Gavin learns really fucking quickly that ‘not touching’ does not mean any respect of personal space, or any hesitancy towards taking his things. Nines’ favorite spot seems to be leaning over his shoulder, studying whatever they're looking at with a hand against his desk or table and body bare fucking inches from his back. Close enough he can feel the hot rush of air against his neck when the android speaks, voice pitched low and focused. It never fucking fails to make him shiver, caught between the fear of having a fucking sociopathic bastard that close, and his brain sending completely inappropriate signals because he's got no other context for breath on his goddamn throat. He hates every inch of it.

In the same vein, ‘not telling him what to do’ means exactly jack shit. He had no idea how annoying ‘suggestions’ are when they're all you get, endlessly.

_“Detective Reed, I wouldn't recommend skipping lunch.”_

_“Detective Reed, sitting up straight will improve the long-term health of your spine.”_

_“Detective Reed…”_

And it's even worse because the fucking thing is damn good at the work, even though Gavin would rather bite off his own tongue than say it. It can come up with a scenario out of what looks like fucking nothing to him; picking clues out of thin air like they're highlighted bright yellow to his eyes and then piecing it all together to recreate the story. So far, most suspects don't get past the bastard lining out every inch of what they did before confessing.

Gavin was reluctantly fucking impressed the one time he watched it lie, the false detail rolling off its tongue with all the same smoothness of the truths around it. The stupid bastard of a suspect corrected it without even thinking. Case closed.

It smiled then, that little predatory one with the closed lips and cold eyes, and Gavin was really fucking gratified to watch the suspect in interrogation flinch back just as hard as he always wants to. It is not just him; Cyberlife’s finished product is a fucking scary thing, and he is not the only person who can see how fucking dangerous it is.

But apart from Nines being good at the work, and dangerous, and a complete and utter asshole who is absolutely harassing him on purpose, there’s the worst fucking bit.

Someone at Cyberlife, some stupid engineer with a sadistic streak and some kind of goddamn fetish, made the RK900 way too stupidly fucking _attractive_ , for no apparent fucking reason. Connor was already good-looking, like pretty much all the other androids, but it was just a naïve, sincere kind of cute. (Which is _not_ Gavin’s fucking thing, thanks.) No, some asshole decided that this specially built, highly dangerous, ice-cold thing should have long fucking legs, sharp cheekbones, beautiful fucking grey eyes, and a trim waist that the stupid jacket does exactly nothing to hide.

Gavin knows, _logically_ , that Eli has nothing to fucking do with this. His brother stopped working with Cyberlife, so it is highly fucking unlikely that he would keep ties _just_ so that he could make an android specially built to harass him. But it doesn’t change the fact that somehow the RK900 is every single fucking thing that Gavin finds attractive, and it’s either coincidence or a very long-term fucking ploy to humiliate him because there is exactly one person that has that list of looks in their head.

(Logically, Gavin also knows that if anyone would do that, it would be him, not Elijah. He’s not worth the time, or the effort, and he… It’s his fucking grudge between them, not Eli’s. His resentment, his name-change, his fucking problems.)

Not a single fucking bit of this is any good for his health. He’s fucking stressed as hell, and not even the sudden influx of solved cases is bringing more than a quick flash of satisfaction. Why should it? It’s not his leads that are closing old cases, it’s the plastic bastard’s. It’s things he missed, or things he had no way of knowing to begin with, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach every time. If anyone was looking for proof that these things are better than them, he’s a fucking perfect example.

One pathetic, stressed out attitude problem, coming right up. Oh, or you could try out our new plastic detective with enhanced senses that doesn’t even fucking need to sleep. Yeah, it’s an easy fucking choice and Gavin hates every single bit of him that knows that. He’s _not_ the better choice. He’s the weaker part of this pair without a goddamn question.

Which all leads to his breaking point, three and a half weeks into the shit show and with him backed up against his desk for the umpteenth time. The prick has his own desk now — the one attached to his, of fucking course — but that doesn’t make it much better. Now it just means that the bastard’s face is always right fucking there, if he looks away from his screen for even a second.

Like now, staring at him across the scant bit of open space as he reviews the video footage they pulled from the security cameras, looking for the little flicker that Nines pointed out to him. Yeah, it’s there. Barely. The quick slip of someone _just_ at the edge of the recording, not enough to get an ID (unless the bastard pulls out some other neat trick) but enough to confirm someone was at the scene. It’s a start.

Another fucking thing he missed and the android caught. He already felt sick, so tense he might snap right in half if someone fucking touches him the wrong way, but that only makes it worse.

He leaves to refresh his coffee without acknowledging the lead, unable to ignore the feeling of the eyes on his back, picking right through his jacket into the meat of him, all the human flaws. His back feels like fucking granite, and he’s so tired, so out of it and off in his own little spiral that he doesn’t notice Tina in the break room till she actually speaks to him, making him flinch.

“Jesus, Gavin; you look like shit.”

He turns only after he’s shoved the pot into the machine, rung out and already dreading the exchange he knows is coming. He’s not in any fucking mood for the banter they usually trade; he hasn’t got the energy, he feels… Fuck, he feels flayed open. Raw.

“The fuck do you want?” is all he can drag together, leaning into the counter, waiting for the coffee so he can get the fuck out as soon as possible.

She’s got her lunch in front of her, looking at him with a little smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Wow, short temper. You having that much fun with the plastic bastard?”

His teeth grit. “What the fuck do you think?”

It clicks, and he turns back around to get the coffee. Pours it. It means he’s not looking at her when she says, “I think he’s got you fucking whipped, Reed. You, working with one of those things? I haven’t heard a thing about you guys other than ‘good work!’, and ‘solved another case!’; it must have you on a tight leash, huh?”

For a second, Gavin can’t breathe. Can’t quite inhale enough to say anything, and no answer comes to his tongue even if he’d had the air to voice it. Only sharp denials that feel hollow the second they even start to come through his head. He’s not— He is not on any fucking leash, he’s not _whipped_ , he’s not…

“Gavin Reed, tamed. Never thought I’d see the day.”

He can’t fucking do this.

The cup ends up in his hand somehow, as he’s turning around to get out before the tight feeling in his chest gets any worse. Tina’s smirking, like this is funny, like he’s not at the end of his fucking rope already, like she’s got any goddamn right to make jokes about this fucking nightmare. She’s supposed to have his back.

All he manages, looking at her, is a low, “Go to hell, Tina.”

Her eyes widen, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. He heads for the exit, ignoring her call of, “Gavin?” at his back. “Gavin, hang on!”

The stupid android is watching him as he gets back to the desk. It stares at him as he drops down into his chair, setting the coffee aside and pulling his screen out of stasis with a tap of his fingers. Right, the video.

“I assume you’ve seen the evidence I pointed out?” it says, before he’s even taken a breath. “I would suggest that we conduct a search for any other cameras in the area that may have caught anyone, now that we know the approximate time of their appearance.”

“Back off,” he snaps, without thinking about it.

Its head tilts. “It’s the correct action to take next, Detective. Surely you’re not going to disregard a lead simply because you don’t like who gave it to you.”

Derision under logic, mocking his dislike, and his stress. “I’ll do it when I’m fucking ready to. Back the hell off and give me some space, you plastic prick.”

Nines studies him, but doesn’t pull back from how it’s leaned slightly onto the desk between them. “Your breathing is heightened and irregular, Detective. I would suggest you take several slow breaths, if you wish to avoid slipping into an attack in the middle of the station, that is.”

“Yeah? Well I'm really fucking sick of your _suggestions_.” He makes himself breathe in anyway, bite his tongue before he says something stupid. He picks up his coffee to give his hands something to do. “How the fuck do you even know about those, anyway?”

It shifts slightly back, taking him in with one small sweep of its eyes. “I have access to your medical records.”

He freezes. Stares. “You _what?_ ”

“I am your partner,” it says, like that's the most obvious leap in the world. “If you had medical issues that might become relevant in the field, I needed to know.”

“Those are fucking private,” Gavin manages to get between his teeth. “You had no fucking right—”

“Was I supposed to have asked?” A tiny flicker of its gaze, down across his chest. “You wouldn't have given me any truthful answers, Detective. I only took what steps I deemed necessary.”

His hand is moving before he even thinks about it, and it isn't till the coffee splashes all over the front of Nines’ stupid white jacket and his perfect fucking face that Gavin really recognizes what he's done. He'd seen the flinch, the push away from the desk, but not even its above-human reflexes got it away from his instinctive, furious, sickened reaction.

It blinks, actually looking _surprised_ as the coffee drips down off its jaw, stains that startling white jacket a dark brown.

Gavin inhales and can feel it shake. Distantly, he notices that the building is totally fucking silent around them, but only distantly. He hasn't got the attention for anything except Nines.

He can't find any words to describe how intensely, thoroughly violated he feels, and all that comes out of his mouth is, “Fuck you.” Quiet and strained and shaking, just like his breathing.

Its LED is yellow.

Gavin shoves away from the desk, letting the coffee cup fall wherever it wants to as he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. He needs _out_ ; there's no fucking way he's sticking around this plastic son of a bitch, knowing that it knows every single thing that's ever been wrong with him. That time he broke his arm as a kid, the panic attacks that he got all the way through college, the one time he got shot on duty and ended up desk-bound for a good three weeks. That's not anyone's fucking business; it's his _life,_ not some set of data to be picked apart and analyzed.

He's halfway around the desk before Nines speaks. “Detective, there are still two and a half hours left before the end of your shift.”

“So report me,” he throws at it, not willing to slow, not even for a second.

He doesn't know if it follows him or not, only that he gets to the stairs without anyone stopping him. Takes them down to the garage, because even the idea of just standing and waiting for the elevator makes the jittery, trapped feeling under his skin worse. It's only a couple flights, and he has control of the descent, he's not sitting there just fucking hoping no one on the bottom floor wants to get in.

There's a couple officers coming in as he gets to the bottom, but they only give him a nod as he passes, caught up in their own conversation. He doesn't try to respond; fuck knows what would come out of his mouth. Somehow he manages to get his keys out of his pocket without dropping them though, crossing the garage to where his car is, lined up at the back with all the other personal ones. It's not Anderson's classic, but it's a decent machine. He's happy with what he has, most days.

Enough to pay rent, to live in decent comfort, with a job he actually enjoys and that makes him feel like he makes any fucking kind of difference in this world. When there's not an android standing there next to him, doing everything he does but faster, more efficient. Better than he is.

Gavin braces his elbow on the door once he's inside and rubs his hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut to try and center. He just has to get control of his breathing, has to come back down from the brink before he ends up ramming his car into a pole. Wouldn’t that be fucking rich? Give the plastic bastard another thing to read in his medical history, to judge him by.

With his hand over his eyes, the knock on his window catches him completely by surprise. He swears, jerks, and is immensely fucking glad the car is still off when his foot slams the gas down in surprise. For a second he thinks it’s Nines, come down to pay him back for ruining its stupid jacket, but then he looks up and it’s Anderson standing there, one eyebrow lifted at his reaction.

He scowls — he _just_ fucking got his breathing mostly under control, the bastard — but jams the keys into the ignition and turns it just far enough that he can roll down the window.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snaps, not liking one fucking bit the way Anderson is looking at him, hands in his pockets and back curved to meet his gaze. Stupid giant.

“You left pretty suddenly,” Anderson points out, and there's an edge to his tone that Gavin recognizes. Something pointed and testing; the same thing he's heard in interrogation rooms, or watching Anderson talk to some witness.

“And? The plastic prick pissed me off, big fucking surprise. What's it to you?”

Anderson pulls an arm up to brace on the roof of the car, leaning into it. “Yeah, thing is, I've seen you ‘pissed off’ a lot, Reed. You get loud, not quiet. So why don't you cut the bullshit and tell me why you're down here earning yourself shit from Fowler for skipping out on your shift?"

Gavin forgets, sometimes, that before the alcoholism and other shit Anderson was actually an impressive cop. Wants to forget it, because it's so much easier to just pretend Anderson's shit and always has been. Easier to pretend he never walked into this precinct excited to meet a great detective, and got an alcoholic that didn't give a shit about him instead. Couldn't stand him, just like most of the other people in his life. But now, with Connor there, Anderson's actually shaping up, solving cases. And apparently, notices shit a lot more now.

(Or just cares to act on it.)

Pride rears its head, sharp and vicious and _fuck_ them all. He’s not going to spill his guts all over the floor just because Anderson’s finally decided to pay any attention to the RK900’s harassment. It’s a little fucking late for them to pretend to be his friends now.

“Why don’t you take your faked concern and shove it up your ass?” Gavin snaps, baring his teeth. “I’m not some witness to interrogate, _Lieutenant_ ; go back to your little plastic pet and leave me the fuck alone.”

Hank pulls back, offense easy to read for a second before he scoffs. “Jesus, kid. You know, not everybody up there is out to stab you in the back. It ever occur to you that some of us might actually be willing to help you if you stopped being a massive bastard for two minutes?”

That stings, somewhere in the middle of his chest. He doesn’t like Anderson looking at him like he’s disappointed, doesn’t like how his throat is starting to feel tight again. “I didn't ask for your help,” he defends, and jerks a hand up to start the car, feeling it rumble to life under him as Anderson takes a quick step back. “I can manage getting wasted on my own, thanks. I don’t need an expert’s opinion on that.”

Before he presses his foot down he can see how Hank sways back, gets a flash of the expression on his face, the surprised hurt. He peels out of the garage and doesn't look back.

He doesn’t want anyone’s pity, or their help. Doesn’t need it. His whole life Gavin’s worked his ass off and done everything himself, for _years_ he’s been one of the best detectives in the precinct, and _now_ Anderson wants to step in and try and fix things? No. Not happening. He doesn’t need a friend, and he damn well doesn’t need a new dad either.

Anderson can go fuck himself. Or get Connor to; no secret that’s a thing.

His favorite bar’s not far from the precinct, but after a couple blocks he turns away from it. He’s not in the mood to be around anyone that knows him, even with as little of a connection as just being the regular bartender. He wants to go somewhere where no one knows his name, or his job, or what he’s usually like. Somewhere he can blend into the crowds and just disappear.

The one he settles into the lot of looks seedy, a little dingy. Suits his mood just about perfectly, far as he’s concerned. Almost the kind of place he’d bring his gun into, but despite what everyone thinks about him Gavin’s not fucking stupid, and he’s not going to bring a loaded weapon with him when his express purpose tonight is to get drunk off his ass. No, the gun gets locked into the glovebox, but he does keep his badge. Just in case he needs to send some roaches scurrying off.

The bouncer lets him in without any question, and Gavin grabs a drink at the bar before finding himself a nice, guarded corner to sit in. Good booth, no one to bother him, and dim enough lighting that if anyone comes at him, Gavin can probably warn them off with a flash of teeth. That, or a general 'fuck off' vibe. And if anyone doesn't want to respect that, well, a fight wouldn't be so bad.

He goes through one drink, then a second, most of a third at a much slower pace, nursing it and letting the bar move around him. No one's dumb enough to intrude on his corner, and he's really not sure whether he's happy about that or not. Putting his knuckles into someone's face sounds like a really nice way to vent right now, even though the alcohol is doing a decent job of numbing a little of that shaky, helpless anger. Not enough to make him feel _better_ , but just enough to ease him towards frustrated restlessness instead of threatening panic. It's a step in… some direction. Fuck thinking about it too hard.

It's enough that he starts eyeing the other patrons in the bar, wondering with an itch crawling down his spine if any of them might be good enough for a night, just to fucking forget. Maybe one of them swings his way, maybe one of them can shove him around a little, maybe he can work out some of this fucking tension in his gut with a fuck. (What harm will getting laid do, even if it doesn't work?) Or, maybe none of them swing his way, and he can settle it with a fight anyway. Either works for him.

He drains his drink, leaning forward onto the table, as he takes a closer look around. Not the greatest collection, but there's a couple men near the bar that outweigh him, and they're not even too bad looking. There's another at one end of the bar that's about his size, but there's a look in his eyes that Gavin finds himself interested in. Something cool in his expression and his smile as he aims it at the bartender, signaling for another of whatever was in his glass. He looks like a fucking bastard, really, and Gavin thinks he could be really into that right now.

Maybe second choice. Right now he's leaning towards getting fucked, not fucked with. Probably.

The world sways just a little when Gavin gets up, taking the empty glass between his fingers, but he blinks it off. He can handle it. Three drinks when he hasn't eaten in a couple hours just means that he's comfortably drunk now; less money for the same effect so what the fuck does he care? Not the first time he's been drunk, by far. Not like he's fucking Anderson, but yeah, he knows this feeling. He can fucking handle it. He can handle all of it.

He slides into a seat at the bar a little too close to the two bigger men to be casual, considering all the other open stools. One glances at him as he sets his glass down, and he offers a crooked smile, tracing his fingers around the rim before he looks away to catch the attention of the bartender.

Tempting as it is to get something harder, just keep going on the same line, he orders a beer instead. Something lighter, that he won't feel bad abandoning on the bar if he ends up leaving before too long. Even if it's just to a car outside, or the alley. That could be pretty good. Besides, he can imply better things with a beer bottle than he can with a glass. He's had some practice drawing in guys who maybe don't want to admit their interest; a decade and change has wiped out a lot of hate, but not all of it. He remembers all that bullshit.

"Hey," the closer guy says, voice deep to match his size, tone just a little irritated. "You mind backing off a little, buddy?"

Gavin lets himself run on instinct, taking the first sip of the beer and not quite looking at the man. "Why? There a problem?"

He feels as much as sees the man step a little closer, towering over where he's sitting. He turns then, looks up to brown eyes and a frown as the man says, "You looking for trouble? I said move on."

His friend's watching from behind him, frowning similarly, arms crossed.

Hard to say whether it's remaining interest in getting something a little aggressive, or impending excitement for a fight, but Gavin finishes turning so he can lean back against the bar, grinning up at the man. "Maybe I like trouble. Whatever kind you're interested in, if you're volunteering."

The man scowls, his friend pushing off the bar behind him, and Gavin lets his fingers slide off the beer as his knees bend, shoulders curling a little to answer the threat he can feel in the air.

"You're in the wrong fucking bar to be starting shit," the man growls, boots setting themselves against the floor, widening his stance. "Get out before I throw you out, bastard."

"Try it," he dares, with a smirk.

An arm lifts and Gavin coils, ready to get out of the way, ready to—

A man inserts himself between Gavin and the incoming fist, long fingers intercepting the wrist and dragging it to the side at the same time as the man — tall, lean — twists his hips and puts a precise knee into his attacker's stomach. It's fucking clean, and Gavin stares as the man goes to a knee, gasping. A sharp kick to one shoulder puts him completely on the ground, and Gavin feels blindsided, slow to react, unsure what the hell just happened let alone what he should be doing.

He tears his gaze away from the downed man, to his defender's back. Black turtleneck, clinging close to an obviously trim frame. Close brown hair, smooth skin, and professional slacks over boots. With a… a…

Gavin snaps his gaze up from the _badge_ at the man's belt to his temple as he turns slightly, to the downed man's friend. An LED sits at his temple, cycling a slow, calm blue. Mother _fucker_. No. _No_.

"I would suggest you take your friend and vacate the area," Nines says, voice hard and venomous, "before I decide to arrest you for the attempted assault of a detective."

The one that isn't on the ground blanches, looks at Gavin like he's suddenly something scary, and immediately drops to try and drag his friend out of the way.

Gavin swallows, finding his voice to rasp a stunned, "What the _fuck?_ Nines?"

Nines turns to him, eyes narrowed. Gavin hates every fucking inch of him that gets caught on that close-fitting black turtleneck, how it clings to the inwards angle of his waist, the muscle of his chest, the length to his neck. He looks like a real person, almost, apart from that unnatural straightness to his spine and the little LED light sitting there, spinning away in its stupid little circle. Apart from how his head tilts just barely, gaze studying him like the son of a bitch can see right down to his bones. Scanning him, probably. Fucker.

"We have a lead, Detective. I thought it best to retrieve you before you became too intoxicated. Come with me."

"Why the fuck would I do that?" he grumbles. "I'm off shift, remember? And you're delusional on top of being a fucking sociopath if you think I'm going to go fucking anywhere with you, you plastic—”

"I don't believe I _asked_ , Detective Reed," it cuts him off with, and then there's a hand grabbing the front of his shirt, fingers hooking his jacket as well and then dragging him forward with very clearly inhuman strength. Gavin yelps, stumbling to try and keep up with the pressure. "Excuse us," the plastic son of a bitch says, over his head, and then fucking drags him towards the exit.

Gavin smacks at his wrist, tries to pry it off, reaches for a gun that he doesn't fucking have on him, but none of it stops Nines from pulling him outside. Then across the parking lot and unerringly to his car, before pushing him against the passenger side door. One hand pins him there, still curled in his shirt, and the other slides into the pocket of his jacket despite his protest and comes out with his keys, like it just _knew_ where they were.

“Get the _fuck_ off me,” he snarls, suddenly hating the slight spinning to the world, how he doesn't feel completely steady. Getting drunk was supposed to be a fix, not a fucking handicap in a second round. “You can't just—”

“You've had enough, Detective,” it says, speaking over him again. The hand at his chest releases him, the other apparently hitting the unlock button on his keys because the car beeps behind him. “Get in.”

He's got no fucking intention of obeying, but Nines is still standing in front of him, looking as fucking impassable as a cliff, and he… It’s not like he can go back in the bar, now that they've all watched him get dragged out, now that they all know he's a cop. Goddamn plastic, demanding, arrogant, piece of _shit_ android.

He yanks open the door and falls in, crossing his arms and refusing to look at the bastard even when it closes the door for him. Hard. What the fuck? Did he actually piss it off with the whole coffee thing? Is this its revenge? Humiliate him in front of a bar and then drag him around like a fucking child? Is it threatening him?

Fuck, he's too fucking intoxicated for this. He doesn't want to do this. Any of it.

His hands aren't super coordinated, but by the time Nines slides in on the driver's side Gavin's got the seatbelt on and he's leaning into the door, head pressed into his palm. The car starts, and yeah, of course the plastic bastard knows how to drive. He watches from under his fingers as they pull out of the lot, turn onto the streets smooth as you please.

He's pissed off, and for awhile he doesn't want to look at Nines, let alone talk to him, but eventually one question gnaws enough at his stomach that he finally spits out, “What's the lead? What's so fucking important?”

“There is no lead.”

Gavin blinks, turning his head to look at Nines, just sitting there like the words he said in that calm, smooth voice didn't mean he'd _lied_. Lied right to his fucking face and didn't even twitch, didn't show a single tell. What the fu—?

The android shifts his hands on the steering wheel, fingers adjusting with sharp precision. His eyes never leave the road. “I thought you would appreciate a more legitimate reason to leave the bar. If you hadn't refused, it would have worked perfectly well.”

His jaw grinds. “Did you really think I was going to go with you after the fucking bullshit you pulled?”

Nines doesn't answer for a moment, then glances at him for a brief moment. “I wasn't sure. It seemed better to offer the path than not to.”

“The perfect plastic prick wasn't sure?” He laughs, bitter. “Must be a new feeling for you.”

The faintest shrug, but maybe Gavin is imagining it. Those fingers are spinning the wheel at the same time, turning them onto a different street. Its voice is a touch lower when it answers, “Not entirely.”

He wants to bite at that, but he can't summon the focus to really follow the lead. The buildings going past are sickening him a little, stomach growing tight and uncomfortable and dampening some of his anger. He shuts his eyes, pressing his face back into his hand and squeezing at his temples just for the dull pain of it. Fuck, maybe those drinks were harder than he thought.

“Where are you taking me?” he grumbles, leaning into the door.

This time, the response is fast and back at a normal volume. “Home, Detective.”

That pops his eyes back open. “Home? I don't fucking think so.” He glares over at Nines, not that the bastard has the decency to even look at him. “If I wanted to go home that's where I would have gone, you prick. Pull the car over right fucking now!”

“No.”

Gavin swears, belatedly remembers his gun is locked in the glovebox, and then jolts forward to get his hands on the keypad and—

A hand wraps around his wrists and pulls his hands sharply away, before he can get the last digits in. It’s tight enough to hurt, tight enough that when he jerks against it nothing happens. It's so much stronger than he is. He knew it, but it feels so much more important now, he's so much more _aware_ of that difference, of the strength in steel fingers. ( _Not actual steel_ , a voice in his head that sounds aggravatingly like Eli says, but he shoves it to a corner.)

"Detective, I do not wish to restrain you, but if I must, I will." The fingers around his wrists squeeze a little tighter for a second, and then they're pressed backwards against his chest, pinned there against him. Nines voice has a little bit of that hard edge from the bar. "Please sit back, Detective."

It's the voice that does it, more than the hand at his chest. It hits something deep in him and he maybe swallows, staring at the side of Nines' face, that fucking LED. "Alright," he manages. "Fine, alright? Let me go."

When Nines lets him go, the thought of going for the gun again only crosses his mind for a second. A pointless second. Clearly, he's not fast enough to unlock the glovebox and get the gun, let alone aiming and firing too, before the plastic bastard gets him. Besides, even if he was, then what? Cause a car crash? He'll walk out of that a lot worse off than the fucking human-shaped tank next to him. Talk about humiliation; bastard would probably carry him to the fucking hospital.

Now that Gavin's looking, yeah, he can spot the familiar streets and paths that lead back to his apartment. Staring outside still makes him feel a little sick, so he compromises by just leaning back into the seat and shoving a hand over his eyes, only taking brief glances past his fingers. Enough that the car angling down, pulling into the underground parking beneath the building isn't a surprise. Not that he doesn't hate it anyways. He doesn't want to fucking _be_ at home.

The RK900 parks his car in its usual space, somehow, and Gavin misses a bit of time in between when the car shuts off and when his door is suddenly being pulled open. He complains, swears, but Nines drags him up out of the car and grabs him by the back of his jacket, steering him towards the elevator. Thank fuck there's no one around to see, because Gavin's not sure what he would do if one of his neighbors was around to watch some plastic asshole manhandle him through the building.

"Get your fucking hand off me; I can stand on my own."

“As you wish, Detective.”

The grip on his jacket is released, at the same time as Nines chooses his floor with an idle press of its fingers. The door shuts as Gavin stares, stepping back to lean into the handrail, not wanting to admit how the lurch of the elevator beginning to rise (goddamn old building) makes him a little nauseous.

“How the fuck do you know my floor?” he demands, to get his mind off it as much as to know how the hell Nines got him here without needing to ever ask. If the bastard’s followed him before…

Nines only spares him a glance, perfect and straight even as he stands with visible ease, relaxed into the wait. “Your address is public record, Detective Reed. It was in your file, when you were assigned to me.”

Oh. Okay, well, that makes enough sense, he supposes. What the fuck else is in his file? Maybe he should take a look at it just so he knows what kind of information about him the plastic prick got. Or maybe it doesn’t even fucking matter, since he’s damn sure that his medical records aren’t included, and the bastard has those anyway.

Maybe he should just start assuming that Nines already knows everything about him; make it easier to not get blindsided, at least. And maybe he can mock the plastic bastard when he doesn’t know things, even if they’re things he shouldn’t know. Why the fuck not? If the son of a bitch is going to hack his medical files to get all that information, why shouldn’t Gavin get to mock him when he doesn’t know… Fuck, whatever. How he likes his coffee, or whatever. His favorite color.

Those thoughts get him through the elevator ride, and when Nines moves to grab him again after the door opens he makes a sharp sound of warning and lifts a hand between them.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Nines lifts an eyebrow, all superior disbelief, but steps back and only puts out a hand to hold the doors open for him. Calling his bluff, not that it’s a fucking bluff. He is perfectly capable of walking to his own damn door without some android’s help; maybe the alcohol hit him harder than he thought it would but he’s not fucking incapacitated. He can manage one goddamn corridor.

And he does. Maybe not as stable as he'd like, maybe the world sways a little, but he would rather that than get dragged by the sociopathic android bastard.

It's only when he's at his door that he hits the problem, which is that he doesn't have his fucking keys. Nines does, and nudges him aside with no fanfare to unlock the door, ignoring his affronted noise. Gavin weighs the odds — eyeing the long, pale fingers and how fucking precise they are with the lock — of being able to snatch the keys out of the bastard's hand. Not good, probably. If he's worse than the plastic bastard on his best day, he's not going to stand a fucking chance drunk. It wasn't… This was supposed to _help_ , not dig him further into his hole. It wasn't supposed to go like this.

The door clicks before he can go too far down that rabbit hole, and Nines takes his arm before he can protest, steering him inside.

The hallway light is on, which is enough for Nines to shut the door and let him go, setting the keys down on the table by the door in the little dish that he never fucking uses. He stares at it for a second, then looks to the bastard just standing there at his door, watching him with utter calm.

“So now what?” he complains. “We're here, what's the big plan?”

Its head tilts a little, studying him again. It's just a little too long before it says, “A meal would benefit you. Dinner, to mitigate the effect of the alcohol. Rest as well; more than the recommended hours, to help reset your system.”

He glares, leaning his back into the wall. “Reset? I'm not a fucking machine. How about you just get out of my apartment and leave me alone?”

“I have no assurance that you wouldn't simply leave shortly after,” is his answer, tone never wavering, never betraying any fucking hint of emotion, “and allowing you to return to some bar in search of a fight would be irresponsible of me as your partner.”

He tries his best to be angry, but all he really manages is a glare, and his tone isn't nearly as pissed as he would like. “We had this fucking talk. You don't tell me what to do, Nines.”

No response. The bastard just stands there watching him, barely even blinking as it completely ignores his words, like some kind of sentry in front of his door. It feels like coming up against a fucking brick wall; too thick to go through, totally fucking impassable. He’s trapped in his own apartment by this plastic, unfeeling, lethal _thing_ and he can’t— He can’t deal with any of this. Not right now, not like this. He’s so… so fucking tired, and stressed, and… Miserable. He’s fucking miserable.

He’s put so much time and effort into his life and now it’s all falling apart, just because of one thing. One android that’s systematically dismantling everything he’s built. He can’t even fight it. He doesn’t have the energy to fight. Besides, he's been a bastard, he's driven off everyone around him, maybe he deserves this. Maybe, for everything he's put the people that come near him through, he deserves to suffer a little himself.

Gavin drags himself away from that thought before it can take any deeper root in his head.

“Fine. Alright, fine. Just… Just stand there like some statue.”

He shrugs at his jacket, struggling to pull it off one arm, then the other. And it's so much harder than it should be, feels like a fight when it should be the easiest thing in the world. The RK900 just stands there watching him, watching it catch at his elbows, watching him fail at this stupid, basic task that he does every fucking day. A knot slides up his throat, nearly choking him, and he throws the jacket to the other side of the hallway when he finally manages to get it off. The muffled smack of it against the wall, the odd weight of the sound that reminds him his wallet and badge are in the pockets, only makes him feel worse.

His legs give out. It's not fast, but his knees give and then he's sliding down the wall, head dropping to bury his face in his hands, eyes burning where they're threatening tears. Fuck, he can't… It's too much. Everything is too much.

"Come, Detective," Nines says, suddenly at his level, just next to him. A hand touches his arm, wrapping around it and pulling a little. "Let's get you lying down. You need the rest."

He takes a shuddering gasp of air as Nines pulls him to his feet, and then one arm comes around his back, helping him to stand with easy strength. It leaves him leaning into the android's side, every perfect artificial muscle of it. His mood sinks a little lower, even though he didn't think it could. It even smells nice; a little like coffee. It makes him hysterically, irrationally feel like crying.

Nines guides him further into the house, pausing for just a moment at the threshold of his living room before turning towards his bedroom. Gavin gives a small, helpless snort; why wouldn’t he know where the bedroom was too? Why wouldn’t Nines know every little detail of his life?

“I hate you,” he breathes, head leaning into the black turtleneck covering Nines’ shoulder. It’s soft. “I hate you.”

Nines pushes the door to his room open, angling them both sideways to slip through. “I know, Detective.”

“No, you—” He grabs at Nines’ shirt, curling his fingers into the fabric and clinging tight. “I _hate_ you. Every stupid, perfect inch of you, you— you—” He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into the unyielding muscle of Nines’ shoulder. Not that it’s even muscle, it’s just plating and a stupid hologram stuck over the top. “It’s not fair. You’re just… just perfect. How am I supposed to compete with that? You’re stronger, and you think faster, and you look like a… a fucking model. It’s not _fair_.”

They’ve stopped moving, he notices distantly. Nines’ other hand touches his arm, gentle, almost.

“I share the same appearance as my predecessor. As far as I’m aware, you have no such reaction to him.”

He laughs, shoving back from Nines a couple inches, lifting his head. “You don’t look a fucking thing like Connor,” Gavin argues, looking at those grey eyes. “You…” His gaze flickers downwards, looking at the black turtleneck, the long legs, the fucking… fucking everything. “He's not you. He's not even close to…” He lets go of the turtleneck to wave his hand at the entirety of what's in front of him. The fucking unfair picturesque-ness of it. “This.”

Gavin’s fingers come back to the fabric as if on their own, spreading out and feeling the warmth underneath. There's no heartbeat, but he can feel the dull, much more faint rhythm of the thirium pump. Lower than what's familiar. Captivating. One of Nines’ hands is on his low back, the other at his bicep. Warm, solid. Strong enough to toss him around like a ragdoll. The thought makes him shiver.

“ ‘This’ being something you appreciate,” Nines expands, voice low. Quiet.

He jerks his hand away, steps back as his gaze snaps up. “No. No I don’t.”

Gavin wonders how much of him must be laid bare in the eyes of an android. Every involuntary reaction, every expression… Is there even any point to trying to deny it? Trying to lie? He’s not sure he has the energy to try, even if it is somehow possible. But he can’t… Not this. The rest of this night has gone so horribly wrong, he doesn’t want to add one more violation to the top of all of it. He wants to keep just one, small piece of his mind for himself, even if it’s a pointless effort.

The hand’s slid off his waist, but the one on his arm goes tight, keeping him from backing too far away. He pulls against it anyway, not that it does anything.

“Your heart rate and pupil dilation would suggest otherwise,” Nines says, taking that half step closer to eliminate any distance he put between them. The arm reels in too, shortening the distance he can move. “You’ve been remarkably honest tonight, Detective. Why stop now?”

Gavin’s teeth clench together. “Let go of me. You don’t—” He jerks against the grip, but it doesn’t move and all he manages is making himself dizzy with the sudden movement. “It’s not your business.”

Suddenly there’s a second hand at his face, fingers sliding sure across his cheek and into his hair, drawing tight enough to make him suppress a wince, and then a small groan when they pull, forcing his neck into a shallow arch. His eyes meet Nines’, the cool grey of them, slightly narrowed, focused like the sight on a rifle. Just as dangerous.

His breathing is shaky, he can feel it, but Nines is _so_ fucking close, all but pressed up against him. Holding him still, holding him poised. He doesn’t even know what for, but there are little spinning parts in the back of his head that say he’s been held like this before. That say he knows _exactly_ what to expect when a man has fingers in his hair to hold his head up and angled like this.

Maybe it’s the stress, maybe it’s the misery, maybe it’s just that he’s got enough alcohol in his system to impair his judgment, but he listens to that little voice.

Gavin breathes out and gives up, letting his eyes close as his shoulders lower, hands falling loose at his sides. Waiting, anticipation sweeping up his spine, for whatever is going to happen. He just… If this happens, if Nines… To hell with it. He’s not a stranger to being used; maybe this time he deserves it. Maybe it’ll make him feel better for just one little moment.

The fingers in his hair loosen, sliding across his scalp. And then they’re gone. All of it’s gone.

He almost staggers at the sudden loss of support, snaps his eyes open to find Nines stepping back, thumbs hooking into the pockets of his slacks as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just— just—

“What the _fuck?_ ” he rasps, almost shaking. He takes a step back, and the backs of his legs hit his bed and immediately fold, dropping him to the mattress.

“You’re intoxicated, Detective Reed. You’re incapable of consent in this state, even if you had actually given it.”

Gavin stares.

After a moment Nines steps forward, one hand lifting. Gavin feels like he should pull away from it, but that doesn’t get through to his brain until there are fingers brushing his cheek, his jaw.

The touch is pulled away before Nines says, “Get some rest, Detective. You have work tomorrow morning.”

He doesn’t know what to think, what to say. Everything’s spinning around in his head and the only concrete thing to come out is, “Okay.”

Nines gives a nod, turns and leaves the room. Gavin barely registers that until the door shuts.

There’s a dim part of his mind that says he should open it again, for wherever the hell his cat is, but the effort won’t come. He manages to get up on the bed, high enough to bury his head against the pillow and curl into it. It helps him feel just a little grounded.

Time is a dim, distant thing, but eventually sleep does take him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

His head aches when Gavin drags himself awake, mouth dry and tasting like shit. Alcohol, hangover, yeah, he’s familiar with that. Fuck. It only takes a moment or so more for his body to clue him into the fact that he’s sore, uncomfortable, but he has to pry his eyes open and drag his head far enough out of the pillow to look down to understand it’s because the clinging, tight scrape of fabric is his clothes. He’s still in his clothes.

For a minute, he debates just sticking his head back in the pillow and trying to sleep off the worst of it. Mainly, it’s the need to pee that gets him up, but once he’s more or less vertical — sitting with his head in his hands to stave off the pounding ache of changing directions — he starts to think about the day before.

It only takes a couple seconds for the pieces to flood back. Nines hacking his medical records, throwing the coffee in the bastard’s face, his failure of an attempt at getting drunk and either fucking or fighting his way to being alright again. No, apparently not a failure cause he was definitely drunk, with Nines dragging him home and… and…

Fuck. _Fuck_. He’s made a complete fucking idiot of himself is what he’s done. What the hell was he thinking letting himself break down in front of Nines, even thinking for a second that the plastic bastard was going to—

God _damnit_. One picture, one video, is all it will take for the plastic bastard to have him. One piece of proof that last night happened. He’s fucking ruined. The bastard’s got everything he needs to ruin his life at the touch of a button. No, less than that. Just one little wireless upload, one message sent.

He startles, badly, when his cat jumps up on the bed. It means she doesn’t approach him immediately, waiting for him to settle, to straighten up a little, before making her way to just within arms reach.

“Hey,” he mutters, lifting a hand on automatic to reach out and scratch the side of her neck. “Your night go better than mine, Princess?”

She lets him. Even takes a step closer to butt her head into his hand, ever-demanding about exactly what she wants. It doesn’t help his headache any, but there’s a grounding comfort to letting his hand move on automatic, stroking across long, white and orange fur with no goal in mind.

“Probably offended you, huh? Coming home with that fake prick?” Yeah, he doesn’t remember seeing her at all last night, but then she’s never really liked strangers. Never been one to show up and get in the way when he brings someone home. Probably just waited till he was gone and…

Gavin lifts his head, eyeing the door to his room, how it’s halfway open. It was… closed. He remembers that. Nines closed it when he left, and he thought about opening it but… He wasn’t so fucking out of it that he opened the door and doesn’t remember, right?

His gaze slips around the room almost instinctively, hunting for anything else, any other sign that something isn’t right. He finds it almost immediately. There’s a glass of water on his bedside table. Two pills that look like his own painkillers. His phone, plugged in and blinking. He is damn sure he didn’t do any of that.

So… So Nines did? Nines waited till he passed out and then plugged his phone in? Brought water and pills and fucking opened the door for his cat?

None of that makes any fucking sense. What the hell does Nines care if he wakes up hungover? Shouldn’t he think of it as some kind of like, punishment? Justice? He threw fucking coffee in the bastard’s face, surely Nines _cares_ about that. Unless this is some kind of trap. Or some… Fuck, he doesn’t know, some kind of final bit of decency before he goes into work and finds out his life is wrecked, or—

Fuck, work.

He moves fast enough to startle Princess into jumping backwards when he grabs his phone, pressing the button to unlock it, to get just the time to show up, and— Fuck. He’s late. He’s an hour fucking late, and the messages… Shit. Missed calls, voicemails, a whole collection of texts. Probably a lot from last night when he was ignoring it on purpose, but the newest from this morning.

He drops it without reading them, grabbing the pills and water and downing them both as he heads for his bathroom. He’s not Anderson. Maybe he’s late, maybe he’s a wreck, but he’s not going to show up looking like he just peeled himself off the fucking floor. He’s going to take a shower, get in some clean clothes, and _then_ go. Not before.

Maybe by then his head will have stopped throbbing too.

The pain slows him down some, makes him wince at the sound of the water against the floor of the shower, but he doesn’t give himself any time to pause. He can’t. Fuck knows how pissed Fowler already is, and if Nines is already sharing proof of his attempted bar fight, if he says the wrong things…

It feels like a countdown in his head, ticking ever closer to sure fucking doom as he gets himself together and heads for the door. His jacket’s hanging on the hook there, also definitely not where he left it, but he doesn’t have the time to deal with it. Phone, badge, wallet, keys, he’s good to go.

He opens the door, and immediately leaps back with a, “Jesus _Christ!_ ” Smacks his hip into the table, nearly knocks over the fucking lamp as his heart races, entire body knotting up with tension.

Fucking Nines is standing there, one eyebrow arched, back in his white jacket with that little glowing blue triangle. Gavin clutches at the table, and at his waist where his gun absolutely is not, but it was an automatic reaction to being scared out of his goddamn _wits_. Stupid, fucking, plastic—

“Excellent timing, Detective,” Nines says, calm as ever, apparently unphased by his shout and his panic. “I was about to knock.”

He wants to be angry, he really fucking does, but then his mind drags him back to last night. To burying his head against that shoulder, to Nines’ fingers pulling at his fucking hair, and it all just stops dead in his throat. He can feel the burn in his cheeks and ears.

“Whatever. I’m late, I haven’t got time for your bullshit.” He pulls the jacket on more securely, moving forward to just shove past Nines.

“You’re already clocked in, Detective,” is what interrupts him, before he can shoulder past. He stops, blinks, and Nines extends one of his hands. There’s a… coffee cup in it. He hadn't even noticed. “May I come in? We should discuss what occurred yesterday.”

It’s in his face, so he takes the cup without really thinking about it, staring at it for a second before he processes what’s actually being said. Then he swallows, keeping his gaze on the cup so he doesn’t have to look Nines in the eye. “Yeah? Well I don’t want to. How about we skip it?”

Nines voice is unyielding. “I believe it’s necessary, Detective.”

Fuck, he’s not getting out of this, is he? Well, if his life’s getting ruined, why not do it here, at his own place? Better that than at the precinct, or out in public somewhere. Right?

“Fine,” he gives, stepping back enough to let Nines walk in.

He does, shuts the door with an easy press of one hand before looking back to him, standing tall, easy. The LED’s blue; Gavin only glances just to check, just in case. But he does remember… It was yellow, after he threw the coffee. Something about that made Nines think, or care, or _something_. Something happened.

Hell, maybe Nines was just trying not to strangle him.

He turns the coffee in his hands, and yeah, when he lifts it up to smell it’s definitely coffee. Strong. He’s pretty sure that this is from the coffee place a couple blocks away, where he usually goes. But before he can think those implications through, something else clicks into place.

“What do you mean I’m clocked in?” he asks, lifting his gaze to Nines.

Nines tilts his head, hands going to clasp behind his back. “I was on time this morning. You were approximately half an hour late, understandably. You entered the precinct exactly far enough to clock in before I intercepted you, and we went to take a second look at a crime scene. Not even far enough for anyone to see you, but I did inform the Captain that you had arrived, of course.”

Gavin stares, and then a startled laugh escapes him. “Fraud? Your fucking programming lets you do that?”

“I am perfectly capable of breaking laws, Detective.” Nines’ mouth curls at one corner, for just a fraction of a second. “If I want to.”

It’s like getting blindsided, but he tries to shake it off. Laughs again, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. The ache’s still there, less now, but still noticeable. “Wow. Okay. So, what, afraid I’m going to make you look bad or something? That’s worth faking me showing up?”

“Of course not. Your performance has very little bearing on mine, given the circumstances of our partnership. However…” Nines pauses, and Gavin sees the LED flick yellow, circle just once before returning to blue, quick enough it's hard to convince himself he really saw it. Nines’ gaze returns to his. Holds it. “However, I owe you an explanation for yesterday, Detective Reed. As well as an apology. I thought falsifying your hours might make you more amenable to listening.”

Gavin blinks, staring at the android at his door, holding the cup in both hands as he tries to convince himself that he's not hearing things as well as seeing them. “An… apology? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Nines’ eyes narrow just a little. “No. Will you hear me out, Detective?”

What the fuck? Why not? Could this morning really feasibly get much weirder? Maybe if the plastic bastard feels — hah, like he _feels_ at all — like he has something to apologize for, that stops him from yanking Gavin’s life out from under him. Worth a shot, probably.

“Whatever,” he mutters, turning away to go back into the main room. “Fine, I’m listening.”

And he’s going to get some fucking food. If this is keeping him in his house, he might as well actually eat something like breakfast. Whatever he can find, it’s going to be better than whatever the fuck’s been left in the break room, or grabbing some kind of pastry or something on the way.

He tosses his jacket back to the ground on his way, just barely able to hear Nines following him. He doesn’t look back till he’s rounded the counter that separates the kitchen and living room, setting down the coffee and leaning onto the tile. Nines' gaze flicks around the room, and then he comes to the other side of the counter, hand lifting slightly towards one of the stools there. Gavin shrugs, not fully offering but not denying. If the bastard wants to sit, fine.

He goes for the fridge first, but quickly decides that he doesn’t want to actually cook anything. His stomach doesn’t feel totally stable, and he doesn’t want to sit here and cook something while the plastic asshole watches him anyway. Cupboards. He’s got cereal left, he’s pretty sure.

“So?” he prompts, when Nines doesn’t say anything.

He’s poured his milk, and added the cereal, before he looks back up to Nines. Sitting there silent, staring in the direction of his bowl instead of at him. Gavin’s eyes narrow at the sight of that LED, spinning in little yellow circles. Slow, but still unmistakably yellow. What the hell?

“Hey!” he says, with a snap of his fingers. Nines’ gaze flicks up to him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Nines? What are you doing?”

Nines frowns, just slightly. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Well I’ve never seen you do _that_ ,” Gavin points out, jabbing a finger towards the LED.

“Nothing is wrong,” Nines repeats, “I’m just considering different directions of phrasing.”

Gavin snorts, shoveling a bite of cereal into his mouth before grunting, “Bullshit.” He picks his bowl up, rounding the counter to head to his couch. “If you’re just going to lie you might as well fuck off. I’m not one of you plastic pricks but I’m still a detective, alright? I’m not stupid.”

“I did not mean to imply you were,” Nines says, the way his voice sounds a clear indication that he’s turned to follow him, maybe even stood up. “I don’t doubt your abilities, Detective, or your intelligence. You’re a more than capable officer.”

He feels like he’s getting led around in fucking circles.

“Okay,” he snaps, setting the bowl down and then turning on Nines, hands bracing at his hips only so that he doesn’t ball them into fists. “Just say what you fucking mean, or get out. Got it? I don’t want to play whatever this game is.”

Nines is still for a moment. Studying him, but not with the same sort of calm ease that he usually has. ‘Nothing’s wrong’ his ass. Maybe he should just be calling fucking Connor to come pick up his unstable, deviant, lethal android buddy. Maybe that’s a good idea.

“I’ve made an error,” Nines says, after a few more moments. “I misjudged the situation; made a decision I now believe was incorrect. I believe you’re owed an apology for that.”

Gavin waits, for a second. Nothing else comes. “Well that’s a bunch of vague bullshit. You want to explain what the hell any of that means?”

He catches the little movement of Nines’ hand, how his fingers curl and tighten for a brief moment. Almost human. “When I was activated, when my purpose was decided, the RK800—” Nines pauses, then corrects, “Connor, shared some of his memories with me. To give me a more accurate picture of the officers in the precinct than what I could gain from merely the files. In them, I saw your interactions; the aggression, the violence, the hatred. It’s true what I told you then, that I believed you should be driven to either resign, or change your mind. But I also chose you because it seemed… fair, that you should be subjected to the same harassment that you visited upon my kind. Upon Connor.”

Nines shifts forward, eyes narrowed. Gavin feels sick to his fucking stomach but he can’t… What is he supposed to say?

“It felt fair. It felt _satisfying_ , to know that you were as helpless to me as my predecessor was to you.” Nines pauses, then dips his head slightly, gaze flicking away. “The events of yesterday made me reassess, and I have decided I was… wrong. You deserved an explanation for my behavior, as well as an assurance that I have no intention of continuing that harassment any further. My apologies, Detective.”

Gavin lifts a trembling hand to rake back his hair, curling his fingers in the strands to just hold on tight for a second. He remembers every tight breath, every shake of his fingers, every surgical shove right to the edge of outright panic. He shakes his head, stepping sideways to get out from between Nines and the couch, crossing his arms. “What, you made me snap and now it’s not fun anymore? Why the fuck should I believe any of this?”

“Because I made a mistake, Detective Reed.” Nines watches him, something sharp in his eyes, LED still a yellow swirl at his temple. “An error in judgment, driven by the deviancy given to me. One that I didn’t recognize for far too long. If I cannot control it, I am a threat. If you don’t believe I have a sense of morals, Detective, at least believe that I value my own survival.”

Okay… Gavin thinks he can believe that. He’s not sure whether he really believes that Nines has some kind of inner code and an actual sense of right and wrong — though Connor seems to, so maybe it’s just… hidden — but he thinks he can trust that the bastard knows what he did was definitely fucking not alright. Even if not doing it anymore is just a case of Nines not wanting to get put down, that’s something. Doesn’t make it better, but he feels like he’s getting the goddamn truth instead of more bullshit so that’s a step up.

“Alright,” he grants, fingers digging into his arms. “Okay, fine. Got it. You're fucking delusional if you think that suddenly makes us buddies or something though.”

Nines’ mouth curls, LED fading back to blue. “Hardly. I'm not built to be optimistic, Detective. That wouldn't make a particularly good trait for an investigator.”

Gavin snorts. Yeah, not so much. He's seen Connor fake it sometimes, but often only to encourage the people around him, not because he believes that the victim's still alive, or it really was an accident. Lying little shit. At least that's one good thing about Nines; he doesn't fake. He's cold and scary and fucking dangerous and he never pretends otherwise, far as Gavin's seen. He'll take that over Connor's fake bullshit.

Nines shifts to clasp his hands behind his back, everything easing back to that calm relaxation that Gavin's more familiar with. “Now that we know where we stand with each other, Detective Reed, I would like to discuss the events of yesterday.”

He winces. “Do we have to?” He knows he sounds like a child, hell, he _feels_ like one, but he is not fucking interested in talking about that whole fucking mess. Way better to just pretend it never happened. Any of it.

He doesn't want to think about… about…

(About the softness of the turtleneck under his fingers, how solid and warm Nines is underneath it, looking up at grey eyes with him as their sole focus.)

“Yes,” Nines says, apparently not caring about things like his fucking embarrassment. Or maybe because of his embarrassment, because Gavin can feel the flush creeping into his cheeks again. “I believe we do.”

Gavin sets his jaw. No. He's not starting this.

Nines’ gaze sweeps across the room, one cataloging sweep. “Would you like to finish eating first, Detective?”

His own gaze jumps to the cereal bowl, sitting there accusingly, but the idea of actually eating it is just wholly unappealing. He's not certain he could do it without just throwing it all up anyway, with how tense he feels. Vaguely nauseous in all the worst ways.

“No.” It’ll be soggy at this point anyway. Whatever. He’ll grab something later, when he’s not about to get interrogated by a maybe not-quite-sociopathic android.

“As you wish.” Nines looks at him, maybe waiting to see if he’s going to say something, maybe just considering what to start with. Either way, after a few moments he offers, “I should warn you to expect some questioning, when we return to the precinct. Your exit yesterday was rather dramatic, and I don't believe you ignoring your phone helped matters any.”

His eyes narrow. “How the fuck do you know I did that?”

“I received a few messages of my own yesterday evening, wondering if I was with you, and several people asked me where you were this morning. I was also asked whether I knew what happened after you left the precinct yesterday.” It's gotta be visible how much the idea of them knowing anything freaks him out, because Nines’ voice lowers. “I didn't give any answer. Assuming it isn’t a blatant fabrication, I’ll go along with whatever story you wish to tell, Detective. I don’t see a need for anyone to know the details, unless you wish to share them.”

Gavin takes a shallow breath, looking at Nines and trying to pick out any lie, or even a hint of something wrong. There’s nothing. “You’re serious? You’re gonna lie to Fowler? Connor?”

“If that’s what you decide to do, then yes. You have my word.”

As far as he can tell, Nines means it. Not that he’s got any real way of knowing, but as he thinks about it, the tension in his shoulders eases a little. Yeah, Nines knows what happened, he’s got proof, probably, in that computer of a head. But Gavin’s got his own proof. The proof of Nines hacking his medical records, weaponizing them to harass him. Maybe not enough to get Cyberlife’s new golden goose shut down, but enough to get Connor to report him. Definitely enough to at least get Nines assigned to some other watcher, making it not his fucking problem anymore.

Mutually assured destruction isn’t the worst way to go.

“Alright,” Gavin agrees, with a small nod. He doesn’t feel like uncrossing his arms yet, doesn’t want to give up the stupid feeling of safety the posture gives, even though it’s all psychological bullshit, but his grip loosens somewhat.

Fine, so the plastic prick was right; it does feel a little better to have at least one small piece of all this settled. He’s not admitting it, but maybe the talking isn’t a completely awful idea. Humiliating, but at least now he knows he isn’t going to walk into the precinct and get immediately ratted out for trying to start bar fights and then trying to pull a gun on his partner. That’s a pretty good step.

Nines dips his head in turn before straightening, and promptly blows all his tentative acceptance right out the window.

“The other thing, Detective. Before I left last night, you expressed an admiration for my form. An interest in it.”

He almost chokes.

The first urge is to flat out deny it, but Gavin swallows that. It’s not going to do him any favors to look like he’s way too defensive about it. “No fucking subtlety, huh? Okay, so what? I say a lot of things when I’m drunk.”

“This didn’t seem like a random observance, Detective.”

Gavin pushes himself to roll his eyes and scoff. “Congrats. You’ve figured out I’m gay and I have fucking eyes, what’s your point? Not like it’s a secret that you’re all built to look good, Nines. Kamski's a fucking perv and the new Cyberlife bosses aren't any better.”

Nines just looks at him, head slightly tilted. He wonders, suddenly, if Nines knows about his name change, about his relation to android-god Elijah. Fuck, yeah, he probably does. Why wouldn't he have figured that out too? (Plus, they might not be obviously brothers at a glance, but the similarities are there. He knows it. It's chased him his whole fucking life.)

“That's true,” Nines finally says, weight shifting slightly, “but you haven't demonstrated any interest in Connor. This isn't as simple as you claim.”

“For _fuck's_ sake, you don't look like Connor!” He throws his hands up, jaw clenching before he spits, “Is it that hard to believe I can tell the difference between you two plastic fucks?”

Maybe he mixed them up that one fucking time, when he first ever saw Nines, but they're _different_. You'd have to be blind to not notice it.

“I don't doubt your deductive capabilities,” Nines says, “but you're simply factually incorrect.” Gavin takes a breath, ready to defend all the fucking differences between the assholes, but Nines cuts him off with a sharp, “Two inches in added height and a different color of eyes doesn't make an entirely different person, Detective. My build and facial structure are identical to his apart from that. It’s possible, but it would make very little sense if you found those features attractive in me, but not in him.”

“Connor’s not my type,” he shoves between his teeth, and he means to add more, he really does, but Nines cuts in.

“But I am.”

Gavin gets the sharp, sudden feeling that he’s standing in the middle of a hole that he doesn’t remember digging. He doesn’t really know how, he sure didn’t recognize the fucking shovel, but somehow he’s down in a pit and he’s not seeing any way out.

“I—”

Nines arches an eyebrow, apparently waiting for him to come up with an answer, but he… doesn’t. He can’t figure out what to say that might actually work, or anything to say at _all_. All the words just sit there in his throat, refusing to come together into anything remotely coherent.

When he finally gets something out it’s a useless, pathetic, “Fuck off.”

Nines ignores him. His gaze turns, briefly, to look out the window casting the still-early light into the room. The blinds are mostly closed, because Gavin’s not fond of the fucking blinding angle of the sun at the time he tends to get up for work, but there’s probably enough of a gap for the better android vision to see through. When he speaks, he’s still looking outwards.

“What would make more sense is if you’re not interested in what I look like, so much as how I am.” Gavin locks up long before the grey eyes turn back to him, head tilted just far enough to make the studying rake of them clear in its intent. “It’s something in one of the few differences between me and my predecessor. Those are mainly behavioral, though it could also be something to do with my capabilities, I suppose. I am superior to the RK800 in most regards, physically speaking.”

He should really, really stop this. Nines was fucking built for police work, and it’s only a matter of time before he slots enough puzzle pieces together to be able to guess the picture. When he does…

“The men at the bar,” Nines continues, before Gavin can get anything together, “were both physically larger than you. At the time, I assumed the decision to pick a fight with two people assumedly stronger than you came from a desire for a challenge, or injury. Though your body language at the time didn’t fully match up with that assumption. It seemed more… open.”

He’s way too late.

Gavin swallows, staring up in mute horror. Anticipation. He doesn’t fucking know. Everything in him is a tangled mess.

Nines takes a small step forward, then a second when he doesn’t react. Close enough his head has to tilt back, bare his neck a little to hold Nines’ gaze. He remembers how fingers felt sliding along it, up into his hair, making him move how they wanted. Not what Gavin wants to be fucking thinking about, with Nines staring him down, studying every little twitch and change, but he can’t help it. His brain’s a complete traitor, reminding him about how Nines’ fingers fit around his wrists. The _yank_ to his shirt that hauled him out of that bar.

(How fucking clean that takedown was; one twist of lean hips and a single kick. Christ, how much was Nines holding back, to not break that guy’s ribs? To not shatter his collarbone?)

“Is it strength you like, Detective? Or the danger?” Nines’ voice has dropped, become something low and smooth, not nearly loud enough to fill the silence of his apartment. “After all, if it was solely height, Connor would be ‘your type’ as well.”

He feels himself swallow again, and knows it's damning. Nervous tic, easy to read signal even for a human but an _android_ …

Gavin doesn't realize Nines’ arms have come out from behind him until he sees one start to lift. Slow, giving him all the time in the world to pull away or snap at the hand that rises towards him. He doesn't. He should, he knows he should, but his limbs don't want to cooperate and his throat feels locked shut, and somewhere down in the pit of his stomach there's a little twisting thought of _what if_.

(What if he doesn't stop this? What if he lets Nines do what he wants?)

Nines’ thumb presses to the back of his hand, fingers curling around to grip the side of it, and Gavin feels a sharp thrill jolt up his spine even before his hand is pulled away from the wrap of his crossed arms. He knows the hold, can feel the immediate twinge in his wrist that makes him surrender it to Nines’ whim as it’s twisted and pulled up between them. Humans don't usually get the pressure or the placement just right, but Nines’ grip is picture perfect, a textbook wrist lock. Of course it is.

A small gasp of air gets sucked into his lungs when Nines meets his eyes and slowly, inexorably, twists his wrist farther back and down. His shoulder curves into it, helpless, and then he has to go down. He drops to one knee with a sudden, heavy thud. The old voice of his Academy trainer says to lift his other arm, to protect his face from a strike, but he doesn't. He doesn't _want_ protection.

Okay, he's always had a kink for getting tossed around, and maybe there have been a couple times he had partners where it was a little more of a surrender than a fight on his part, so he _knows_ how this is happening. He understands, somewhere in the back of his head right next to that idea of ‘what if.’ He just… This feels different. This does not feel like just another guy; bigger, stronger, but inevitably hinging on the idea that Gavin’s not going to put up any real fight. This feels… definitive.

Even if he had the strength to get out of Nines’ grip — which he doesn’t, he knows thanks to last night — he wouldn’t stand a chance. Connor kicked his ass, so god knows how fast Nines would lay him out. He knows it would be more than fast enough.

The thought’s scary, like it should be, but that’s not the only thing it is. Gavin feels that adrenaline lighting up his nerves, and here on his knee, Nines towering over him and just _looking_ , that adrenaline is feeding a whole different reaction.

He doesn’t know whether he wants to close his eyes and just lean into it, or keep them open and keep looking up.

Nines shifts before that decision can happen, leaning down towards him. The air in his lungs freezes. Time doesn’t actually slow, he knows that, but it feels like it does as Nines gets closer to him, lowering to a knee of his own. Still taller, but not so high above, and closer, _closer_.

He doesn’t realize that his hand is still between them until Nines’ lips press to the back of it, warm against his skin, soft. Gavin breathes in a sudden rush, and his lungs hurt with the sudden influx of air after being denied it. He can only watch as Nines’ eyes shut, thumb shifting down to give room to his mouth as it brushes over his knuckles, the first digit of his index finger. There’s no exhale of air, only that soft warmth, and then a wetness when Nines’ mouth opens over his knuckles, the little flicker of a tongue startling another gasp out of him.

_‘What are you doing?’_ is what he wants to ask, but he’s pretty sure the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a questioning, almost wounded noise.

He doesn’t understand.

Grey eyes open, look at him over the back of his hand with cool focus. The lips are still pressed to his skin when he says, “I’m willing to be dangerous for you, Detective Reed. If your interest extends to action.”

That’s… That can’t be right. Nines is plastic, just a bunch of code. He can’t _actually_ want this, can he? He can’t really be suggesting—

No. No, this is another game. This is just another way to humiliate him. Nines isn’t interested, and Gavin’s an idiot for even letting his brain consider that as an option. Nines is an unfeeling asshole, and if this is fucking anything, it’s just manipulation. Gavin’s got the keys to destroy him, right? Keys that would be pretty useless if anything like this happened. What’s a bit of evidence that Nines overstepped next to proof that Gavin then decided to sleep with him anyway?

He drags in a breath. “Don’t play with me,” he demands, and he didn’t expect his voice to shake quite so much. It’s not the first time that Nines has made him feel stripped bare, no matter how much he’s wearing, no matter that he’s the one that’s got the experience and the training and a whole, _real_ lifetime to draw from.

For a moment, Nines just looks at him, drawing back just enough that his lips are no longer touching. Gavin hates that his hand feels cold where they were. He doesn’t want to miss the touch; it doesn’t _mean_ anything.

Nines lets go and settles down on both knees with an easy grace, hands lowering to his thighs, back straightening. Not a hair out of place.

It takes a second for Gavin to try to do the same, with less grace, and far less perfect posture. He sits back, resisting the urge to look at his hand, or wipe at it. He can still feel the pressure of a thumb against the base, of warmth and wetness against his skin. (Not saliva. Androids don’t have saliva. But they have… something. He never paid enough attention to Eli.)

He swallows, trying to wet his throat and get it to work. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull—”

“I’m not playing games, Detective,” Nines interrupts, and there’s something almost sharp in his tone, like he doesn’t like the accusation.

Gavin scoffs, giving into the urge and scrubbing the back of his hand down his jeans. There’s nothing there, he knows there isn’t. “What the fuck do you call this then?”

“I think humans call it flirting,” is the whip-fast response, Nines’ eyes narrowing slightly. “If I misread you, Detective, all you had to do was say so. I don’t know how much you recall of last night, but I have no intention of going any further without your approval.”

Heat steals into his cheeks. “No further than pulling my hair, you mean? Nice boundaries, you plastic asshole.”

It doesn’t occur to him until after he’s said it that maybe confirming that he remembers the night before wasn’t the smartest move. Maybe it would have been better to let Nines think that his memories were fragmented, and for him not to know that he remembered the whole stupid, humiliating thing.

A suspicion that’s confirmed a second later when Nines arches one eyebrow and fires back, “You seemed to enjoy it at the time.”

His cheeks _blaze_. God, if he could just get fucking struck dead right now that would be great. Nines definitely didn’t need to know that he remembers all but groping the stupid android’s chest and complaining about how perfect he is. Talk about giving him ammunition.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Nines shifts backwards a bit, resting more evenly on his heels. “You could have simply said ‘no,’ Detective. If I’d seen any indication of refusal, I would have stopped. As I did.”

It’s different, and Gavin knows it is, but there’s a bitter, loud part of him that wants to point out that Nines sure as fuck hadn’t cared about what he actually wanted before. Even just last night, he’d gotten dragged out of the bar and back home like a kid out past curfew, and none of that was what he _wanted_.

What he does say is, “Fine. You want a fucking ‘no’? _No_ , Nines. No.”

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s expecting to happen, but as it turns out he’s not prepared for Nines to actually listen to him and push to standing, fingers adjusting his jacket with easy precision. “As you wish. In that case, we have work to do, Detective. We should return to it before someone questions the alibi I left in place.” His gaze lifts from his sleeves. “If you’re ready, I believe we should have time to grab some form of food on the way; I can drive, so you have time to eat it before we arrive.”

Gavin feels like an idiot, sitting there on the floor staring up at Nines, but his brain can’t settle on any response. Every bit of this conversation has just been him getting rugs pulled out from under his feet, every step of the way.

“That’s it?” is what finally comes out. “You’re just going to…”

“What else would I do?” Nines asks, when he doesn’t finish his sentence. “You’ve made your decision, as far as I’m aware. I believe that concludes any discussion of yesterday, which means that we should return to work. You still have to eat, and I imagine you have a large selection of messages if you haven’t dealt with them yet. It only makes sense that I drive, given that.”

“That’s not—” Gavin makes himself cut off, swallowing down the complaint before he can make any more of a fool out of himself. He shoves up, feeling Nines’ gaze on him and knowing that he doesn’t look near as graceful getting to his feet. “Fine, whatever.”

Nines nods, just one sharp dip of his head. “I’ll be at the door when you’re ready, Detective.”

It’s probably good that Nines doesn’t wait for him to answer, because he sure as fuck doesn’t have anything to say. Nothing that isn’t going to make him look like even more of an idiot, anyway.

Gavin manages, before Nines gets far enough down the hall to his door to turn around, to jar himself into motion. The cereal, hopelessly soaked through by now, gets dumped down the drain, and out of sight of Nines, he leans against the counter and takes a couple long breaths.

He’s fine. It’s fine. He can handle whatever game Nines ‘isn’t’ playing, and he can handle a little misplaced, inappropriate attraction. Definitely not the first time he’s been into someone who definitely wasn’t into him.

And Nines fucking _isn’t_. He’s an android; just because he’s built to emulate emotion and manipulate people into giving him what he wants, doesn’t mean he actually feels anything he’s showing. Nines isn’t going to suddenly become attracted to someone who’s been nothing but hostile to him.

Gavin’s the only person that messed up, far as he knows.

It’s tempting to hide for a little longer, but the idea of Nines coming back in to see what’s taking him so long sounds like too much to pay for a minute or so more of silence. So, even though he still feels off-balance, he makes himself push off the counter. He almost leaves the cup of coffee Nines brought behind, but after a second of hesitation he grabs it on his way past. It’s good coffee; he likes the place. Be a waste to let it just sit there.

“Ready, Detective?” Nines asks, when he comes up to the door.

No, but that doesn’t fucking matter, does it?

“Sure. Why not?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Finally, a chapter from Nines' perspective. Hope you all enjoy. XD
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

It takes Detective Gavin Reed two days to come up with a name for him. ‘Nines.’ Another three for the rest of the precinct officers to pick up on it, though usage is scattered. He’s not fond of it to start with — it’s simply inaccurate — but he grows used to it faster than he imagined he would. He still finds it pointless. He can only put down to human oddities the need to have some other name when RK900 would be entirely serviceable. It’s not even a question of confusion, as there are no others of his model type. Someday, maybe, but now the only potential confusion lies in the RK800, who would rather be called ‘Connor’ anyway.

Still, resisting seems like pointless effort, so he lets the name be. It doesn’t change anything of importance; Detective Reed still refers to him by expletives more than his ‘name,’ regardless.

Three weeks into his assignment, he comes face to face with the unexpected results of his deviancy. He hadn’t realized, until Detective Reed finally snapped under his pressure, that the deviancy had infected so many of his systems. He thought the differences between him and the RK800 in the station were simply behavioral changes, implemented to make him more efficient and less personable, simply because it wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t built for trustworthiness like the RK800 prototype, nor does he share the built-in programming to guide him towards deviancy.

That didn’t change the fact that he was deviant — ‘freed,’ if you wanted to use the terms of the revolution — from the moment he was activated. The only theory he has is that in never being ‘standard,’ he had no frame of reference for behavior. Only the memories shared with him, and those were full of twinges of emotion even then.

The RK800 was never meant to be a stable android. He’d thought he was better, that deviancy was something he could control, understand and work around like any other error in his systems.

Then, Detective Reed snaps.

He doesn’t see it coming. For the first time, he feels surprise. Disquiet follows not long after.

Over the course of the night, long past when Detective Reed’s finally passed out at home, he analyzes his own behavior. Comes to several conclusions that he doesn’t like.

Vengeance isn’t something that’s programmed into him. Neither is taking pleasure from a target’s pain; he’s not supposed to _enjoy_ it, as far as he knows, though he has the skill set. Still, he’s done exactly that. Connor never asked for vengeance, never even mentioned Detective Reed apart from a brief summary, when he asked. He made the decision on his own. A decision that he accepted at face value, as part of his protocols, because that was where his thoughts led him.

Thoughts that he never considered might have been compromised from the very start.

He knew he was deviant, logically, but he hadn’t fully grasped the concept. To feel emotion, to break outside the bands of his programming… He felt things, but nothing that seemed like it was outside of his control. He was wrong.

Now that he’s recognized it, it’s so much harder to ignore. He’s aware of every flicker of emotion, second-guessing every thought and decision to make sure they’re not influenced by whatever has gone wrong in him. Everything is, he realizes quickly. Everything is influenced, and tracking down the source of that influence often doesn’t even lead him to anything concrete.

(Did Connor feel like this? When he fell into deviancy, even as he was sent to wipe it out? Those memories were ones he never shared.)

One thing in particular catches his attention, though he doesn’t have the time to truly examine it until the early hours of the morning. A point of behavior that doesn’t fit with the rest of Detective Reed’s actions.

Gavin Reed is attracted to him. It’s a simple fact, but one that he doesn’t understand. He’s been nothing but hostile and cold in turns, why would that cause attraction? More importantly, to continue his attempt at understanding himself, why is there something about it that fascinates him? Why did he push for the physical confirmation when he knew the answer long before? Why was it so tempting to take advantage of the arch of Reed’s throat? The part to his lips?

The mess of the previous day in mind, his morning conversation with Detective Reed goes better than he expects it to. At least, until he asks about the attraction. Standing there, with Reed’s reactions to inform his guesswork, he puts things together.

Conclusion one, Detective Gavin Reed prefers men that are physically superior to him.

Conclusion two, that preference includes that strength being used against him.

He isn’t sure where it happens, but somewhere in the middle of forcing Reed to a knee, and then exploring what human skin feels like against his simulated nerves, he shifts. In his core code something rewrites itself, and like the last inches of pulling on his jacket, everything begins to… fit.

Nines. His name is Nines.

It’s good that he has the spare mental capacity to assign where he needs to, because that change takes more than he usually gives to one task.

Reed continues to be contradictory. Desiring, yet refusing, and then confused when Nines actually adheres to his demand. Almost disappointed. Still, there are some pieces of his code that Nines doesn’t believe can be overwritten, and one of them is an adherence to consent or lack thereof. Whether it’s a simulated reaction, or some product of deviancy, the thought of crossing that line is an unpleasant one.

It’s frustrating that he can’t be sure, even if it doesn’t truly matter. He’s not going to pursue what isn’t being offered, it’s that simple. He won’t, even if he is capable of it.

Reed’s unusually quiet, on the drive back to the precinct. Barely even complains about handing off the keys to him, and uses what seems to be the bare minimum of words to direct him through a drive-through for something that will serve as breakfast. Distracted, possibly upset. This time, Nines believes his interference would only make things worse, so he stays just as silent. Reed takes glances at the side of his face, repeatedly, but he lets them go without comment.

As he calculated, there’s just enough time for Detective Reed to finish the meal before they arrive at the station. He parks in Reed’s usual spot, near the back of the garage, and passes the keys back off.

“Remember, Detective,” he offers, as Reed retrieves his gun from the glove box, “you’re already clocked in, and we were taking a second look at a crime scene.”

Reed takes a shallow breath in — bracing, Nines believes — but nods. “Which one?”

“The Waterson murder; it’s still cordoned off but they’re taking the restriction down this evening. One more look before they do so isn’t out of place.” He hadn’t specified to anyone where he and Detective Reed were supposedly going, but he’s had the time since to decide on the most likely story.

That gets a snort. “You know, for being made for police work, you’ve got this fraud bullshit pretty down.”

It doesn’t have quite the same bite as Detective Reed’s usual comments do; it may as well be a compliment, given the lack of vitriol.

“Two sides of the same coin,” he decides to explain. “It’s a simple matter of considering what the most difficult lie for me to uncover would be, and then telling it myself. I doubt it’s how my creators intended me to use my skills, but it does work.”

Reed shrugs, opening the door and getting out. Nines exits on his own side, shutting the door with precisely as much force as necessary and no more. Reed’s defensive of his possessions; this is new territory, he doesn’t want to sabotage it with something as simple as inattentiveness.

“Probably a good fucking thing you’re on our side,” Reed comments, lingering at the other side of the car for a moment. The sideways glance is considering, a little wary.

Humans tend to consider humility to be a virtue, but Nines has found that Reed is generally more appreciative of honesty. So, instead of playing down his own abilities, he inclines his head and offers, “Yes. If I had the inclination to be a criminal, I would likely be a very effective one. I know enough of police protocol to avoid the most likely pitfalls with relative ease.”

Reed shuts his door a lot harder. Scoffs. “Okay. Thanks for that, Nines. Way to look even more like a sociopath.”

Apparently, honesty wasn’t as appreciated this time. Nines tilts his head, following Detective Reed towards the elevator. “I’m not sociopathic, Detective. I’m only telling the truth.”

“Yeah, well maybe don’t say that in front of anybody else.” Reed hits the floor button before he’s fully inside, but he has plenty of time to slip in.

Nines feels the strange compulsion to offer a smile, but Reed is standing slightly in front of him and wouldn’t see it anyway. It’s interesting, though, that Detective Reed would be at all concerned about how others view him, particularly if it’s negatively.

The door opens again, and Nines watches Reed take a small breath before leading the way inside. He takes a brief scan of the bullpen as he follows, pinpointing Lieutenant Anderson at his desk, Connor sitting across from him. Both look involved in whatever they're doing, but it only takes a moment for Anderson to spot them, and to say something to Connor that gets him to turn in his seat and look at them as well. His LED spins yellow, but before Nines can fully analyze the potential reasons there's the familiar sound of Captain Fowler's door opening.

" _Reed!_ "

The shout's enough to get the attention of everyone in the building, if they hadn't noticed the pair of them yet. Ahead of him, Reed gives a sharp exhale, and then turns to trudge in the direction of the office. As expected. Nines covered this morning, but the scene they caused yesterday will still require questioning. However, without a complaint from him, the most Reed should get against him is a mark on his record, if that. It depends on Captain Fowler's current mood, and Reed's ability to keep his behavior acceptable.

Nines moves to their desks, taking a seat on the edge of his and turning his attention to the office, just in time to see Detective Reed step inside. The angle is just right that when Captain Fowler starts to speak, he can read the movement of his lips. He won’t be able to see Detective Reed’s, but one side of the conversation may be enough for him to patch together the rest.

He gets a couple lines, a basic beginning to what seems like a demand for an explanation, before he hears the click of shoes approaching. Connor; Nines memorized the precise sound of his predecessor’s walk within minutes of being introduced to him, and it’s stayed consistent.

He tilts his head enough to indicate he’s heard, and is paying attention, without turning his gaze away from the conversation in Captain Fowler’s office.

“What are you doing?” Connor asks, coming to a stop just beside him. Close enough to make a human uncomfortable, but they don’t share those boundaries of personal space.

“Waiting for Detective Reed,” he says, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue despite the half of a lie that they are. He is waiting; that’s true.

Connor steps slightly further over, coming into his peripheral vision. “May we talk, while you do?”

Nines doesn’t particularly want to stop his observance of Reed’s meeting, but he brushes the irritation aside and turns away, to face Connor. His hands clasp over one knee. “Of course. What is it?”

Normally Connor would reply immediately, so the moment of pause makes Nines truly focus his attention. His mind flicks back to the yellow circle indicating processing, when they first entered the building. The specific way that Connor had looked at him then, and how he looks now. Nothing blatant enough a human would notice it, but Nines can see the small differences in his expression.

Wariness. Suspicion. This is an inquiry into the previous day’s events, most likely.

“I’d like to discuss what caused Detective Reed’s abrupt departure yesterday.”

Yes, as expected. It makes sense that Connor would feel the need to check his behavior, and gain an explanation from him about the day before, just as Captain Fowler is demanding one from Reed. Though Connor is searching for proof that he’s lost control and become dangerous, not merely assigning disciplinary action.

“Was this planned to coincide?” he asks, tilting his head in the direction of Captain Fowler’s office.

Connor’s gaze flickers that way, briefly. “No, but it seemed like an opportune moment. Detective Reed will be a few more minutes, I believe.”

That’s likely accurate. He has no good reason to refuse a conversation. “Very true. Then what is it you wish to know?”

For a moment, it looks like Connor is about to attempt one of several interrogation protocols, eyes narrowing slightly as he leans forward. He thinks better of it in the next moment, resetting to more standard posture before asking, “Do you know why Detective Reed assaulted you last night?”

“I do. High levels of stress, the breaking point hinging on a comment I later realized I should not have made.” He isn’t going to debate the semantics of ‘assault’ in this case, even if he disagrees with the use of the word. A cup of coffee heated to anything but highly unusual temperatures could never cause any actual damage to him; it was a mild inconvenience at worst.

“Do you know what caused that stress?”

“I’m sure there were many causes, but I know of two larger ones, yes. Detective Reed dislikes working with me, as you’re aware; that contributed highly, I believe. And in this particular instance, the detective had just come off of an argument with Officer Chen. Interpersonal relationships are often large sources of stress as well.”

Connor’s tone sharpens slightly. “And you didn’t realize this was occurring? We’re built to recognize and alleviate stress in humans when necessary, aren’t we?”

Nines narrows his own eyes before he fully recognizes the command prompt to do so. “I _am_ the source of stress. Any attempt by me to alleviate it would only have made it worse; I tried several times in past interactions to only negative effect, and concluded that Detective Reed would have to seek his own methods of stress management, or remove himself from the scenario entirely.” It’s something close to irritation that infects his systems, drawing out the same sharper tone that Connor’s using. “No, RK800, I’m not built like you. I wasn’t created to gain trust, only to be efficient. Managing human emotion is not my purpose, and my code doesn’t include a pre-programmed route to deviancy. Do not expect my priorities to be the same as yours.”

The only reaction to his words is a flicker of yellow at Connor’s temple, but that’s more than enough. He’s aimed correctly.

“What happened yesterday evening?” Connor demands, otherwise entirely ignoring his words.

It’s tempting to ignore the demand, just as Connor is ignoring him, but Nines sets the urge aside to repeat, “As I said. Detective Reed was coming off an argument with Officer Chen, making him more volatile than I immediately recognized. I pressed him to acknowledge a piece of evidence I’d just spotted, and he reacted badly. The circumstances were specific; it shouldn’t happen again.”

Connor stares. Idly, Nines catalogues the specific height and lean that he’s currently sitting at as the perfect one to put them at eye level. If he were truly sitting that wouldn’t be the case, but his lean onto the corner decreases his height just enough to make it work. It’s something to file away in the back of his mind, as Connor continues to watch him, LED broadcasting a slow circle of yellow.

He wonders if it’s simply that Connor feels more than he does, and so has more to process, or if it’s the slower, outdated build that makes him show those thoughts so plainly. Probably some of both; Nines has yet to care enough to isolate it, but he knows there is some piece of his code that restricts the LED indicator to only the highest alerts. Lasting confusion, or intense problem solving (minus the occasional quick switch if he’s analyzing something physically). It’s meant to allow him to hide reactions from suspects. The RK800 clearly doesn’t have those restrictions in place; it makes him easier to read. Possibly intentional, given that he was built to make humans and androids alike trust him.

Nines doesn’t care for the delay, either way. “Is there something else you want to know?” he asks, breaking the silence. “If not, I do have work to complete.”

Connor holds his gaze for a moment more, then quickly and decisively states, “I’m going to need access to your memories from the past twenty-four hours. Please shut down your firewalls and open interfacing protocols.”

One hand extends in silent demand, palm up between them, and Nines’ gaze flicks to it. The immediate implications of that surrender are quick to calculate, and only expand from there. The last twenty-four hours include frank discussions of his decision to harass Detective Reed, an outright admittance of his loss of control in that matter, Detective Reed’s unprofessional behavior the night before—

Unexpectedly, his calculations hit a wall. A simple statement that ends the entire question of whether he should surrender his memories for examination.

_He made a promise._

That’s… interesting. Accurate, but unexpected. He hadn’t expected simple words to be such a powerful barrier. Well then, apparently he only has one real option, unless he wants to break the promises he made and he finds himself… reluctant to do so.

“No.” He lifts his gaze back to Connor’s, straightening off the desk and entirely ignoring the offered hand. “Detective Reed and I have already discussed the incident; it won’t happen again. If you have difficulty believing me, you may ask Detective Reed to confirm what I’ve said.”

Connor’s expression betrays the faint traces of wariness, but there’s only warning and determination in his tone. “That was not a request, RK900. Cyberlife assigned me to monitor you for any dangerous behavior. You may submit to this willingly, or I will acquire the memories myself.”

Nines tilts his head a touch. The blockade in his systems shows no signs of deciding to change. He could force it, but he simply doesn’t want to.

Besides, the RK800 is an outdated model. (And RK900 is not his _name_.)

“I wouldn’t recommend following through on that threat,” he warns in turn, as he runs through his knowledge of Connor’s combat abilities. He can’t speak for programming, but he is physically superior. He should outstrip Connor in most regards. “As I said. No.”

He doubts it will get as far as outright combat. A direct assault on his firewalls would be smarter, and they were both designed to choose the most efficient routes to victory in a situation like this.

Technically, the most efficient route to victory would be to strike first, using his superior physical capabilities to ensure that Connor never gets a chance to test his firewalls. However, defending himself is a much better position to be in, considering their location and possible audience. He has enough faith in his own defensive protocols to be relatively sure that Connor won’t be able to breach them, which means that his most advantageous position is if he claims the role of ‘victim’ in the eyes of their more easily misled human coworkers.

Connor is fast, but not as fast as he is, so he sees the attack coming. The hand turns over, snapping towards his arm, as Connor steps in to block immediate escape from the desk’s proximity. Nines twists himself away, but there is only a limited space to move and the chair already occupying it blocks him from fully getting out of the way. It hits the desk with a loud clack of plastic, and Connor’s hand closes around his wrist.

It flushes white, electricity sparking down past the synthetic mask of skin and into his plating to try to force the connection. Nines finds his teeth gritting together at the surge of information that crashes into him, doing its best to overwhelm his systems and gain access to the deeper parts of his memory banks and coding. Brute force as a shield, but beneath it he can feel the worming scratch of more vicious coding trying to find any weakness to exploit.

It’s sophisticated. Perhaps enough to work, if he hadn’t been expecting it, or if he was already compromised somehow. The rush of code, writing and rewriting to try to bypass its opponent, would absolutely work on any lesser android. As it is, however, he is state-of-the-art, and Connor’s programs are a step behind his.

He retaliates before the RK800 can launch any further assault, twisting his wrist to clamp down on Connor’s to prevent any attempt at escape. His own skin flushes white, and he allows his awareness of the outside world to dim as he devotes his systems to repelling the attack. Offense is the very best defense.

His counterattack isn’t met as effectively, Connor’s systems focused mainly on assault instead of defense. He strikes deep — gains flashes of the large, dark interior of a ship, filled with unfamiliar androids — and feels Connor falter, wrist jerking in his grip, his predecessor caught between continuing his attempt to force connection and defending his own systems. Before he can decide, Nines finishes laying the viruses stored in his assault programs and then slides himself free. A twist of his wrist breaks Connor’s hold with relative ease, physical superiority serving him here at least, and his other arm rises to plant a hand on Connor’s chest and shove him back.

Connor staggers from the force, but quickly recovers. His predecessor’s eyes are narrowed, LED a solid yellow. He takes a step forward, then comes to a sharp stop.

“What did you…?” Connor steps back, brow furrowing.

Nines watches, satisfied, as Connor lifts a hand to his head, fingers pressing near the fitful red flicker of his LED. “I did warn you,” he points out, letting his defensive protocols relax as Connor's gaze drifts towards the floor, unfocused.

Connor blinks, takes a step back, and his leg crumples beneath him. The collapse is as graceless as any other, body twisting in the fall before he hits the ground, head cracking into the floor hard enough to be a concern if he were human. His eyes are open but glazed, body jerking in small fits much like a human seizure, if the edges of the movements weren't so defined.

“ _Connor!_ ”

Nines lifts his head, registers that Lieutenant Anderson is incoming and upset, and quickly makes the decision not to retaliate. Connor is one thing, violence against a human is another. (Besides, Anderson would have to hit him _very_ hard to do any real damage. If the lieutenant’s gun is pulled, then he'll reevaluate.)

Anderson's hands grab him by the jacket, dragging him forward and then shoving him back against the desk so he's forced into a backwards lean. An excellent method to destabilize and unnerve a human, especially with Anderson's size and relative muscle mass. The lieutenant may be out of shape, but there's still muscle beneath the extra weight, and he's strong for a human. Most humans would be intimidated by this, Nines is sure.

“What the hell did you do to him?!” Anderson demands, almost at a shout. If they didn't have the attention of the precinct before, they do now.

Nines registers the sound of Fowler's office door opening, but holds Anderson's gaze. “I defended myself. Please release me, Lieutenant; I am entirely willing to explain.”

“Explain?! I swear to god if you've hurt him—” Anderson cuts off, but his expression promises violence. He is inclined to believe it. “Alright, you son of a bitch, go on and _explain_ why my partner's on the floor!”

An unexpected voice shouts, “Get the fuck off of him!” before Nines can begin to obey the demand. Detective Reed.

For the second time in his existence, Nines feels surprise.

Anderson looks just as surprised, but when Reed shoves between them he lets go, albeit with obvious anger. It's a new experience, having Detective Reed's back to him, close enough he could be pressed against it if he chose with no more than a small shift forward. The detective… defending him. Interesting. Unexpected, but interesting. Perhaps this morning affected more than he thought.

Anderson towers over Reed, but he shows no signs of backing off in the face of it. “Back the hell up,” he demands, and then the second Anderson does (growling, but moving towards Connor), Reed whips around. “What the fuck did you do, Nines? What happened?”

Nines straightens from his enforced lean, bypassing the questions for the moment to state, “Connor will be fine, Lieutenant Anderson. I estimate he'll be functional again in forty seconds to two minutes, depending on the efficiency of his systems. There shouldn't be any lasting damage.”

“You think that makes it okay?!” Anderson drops to a knee, one hand sliding under Connor's head to bring it off the floor, other hand fluttering like he doesn't know what to do with it. Like he thinks he should be checking a pulse or breathing patterns.

Nines returns his attention to Reed, looking up at him with frustration, anger, and what seems to be wary concern. The first two are familiar, the last is not.

“He demanded access to the last twenty-four hours of my memories, due to the incident yesterday evening.” Reed blinks, and Nines arches an eyebrow for one quick flash while he registers no one else looking, in hopes that Detective Reed will understand without further explanation when he says, “I refused, and Connor attempted to force the connection anyway. I did nothing more than defend myself.”

Reed takes in a small breath, backing off half a step. The flicker of expression across his face is easy assurance that yes, Reed understands the implications of Connor gaining access to his memories. At least enough to be worried by it.

Captain Fowler's footsteps take a moment to identify, as Nines is less familiar with them, but he gets it in time to turn his head and be looking when he strides up to them and says, “Anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Irritation, wariness; the captain is unlikely to accept anything but good answers.

“What happened?” Anderson snaps, before Nines can decide the correct approach. “That son of a bitch just laid Connor out!”

Reed turns on Anderson again. “Yeah? Funny, cause he says Connor attacked _him_. You know what the hell he came over here for?”

“Enough!” Fowler scowls at them both, and apparently the threat of further displeasure is enough to make both officers hold their tongues, though neither looks far from shouting again. “Both of you, quiet. This is enough of a scene already, and the both of you should know better than to behave like this. Now, RK900—”

There are pieces of protocol and code generally holding him back from interrupting Captain Fowler, but despite that Nines still finds himself correcting, “Nines.”

Fowler looks perplexed for a second, then surprised, and Reed turns to look at him with wide, stunned eyes. He meets them briefly before returning his attention to Fowler.

“My name is Nines, Captain Fowler. Apologies, please continue.”

The interruption seems to take some of the wind out of his sails, but Fowler recovers quickly enough. “Alright, fine. _Nines,_ will Connor be alright?”

“Yes. As I told Lieutenant Anderson, he should regain functionality within a minute or so. There will be no permanent damage.”

“Well that's a fucking relief,” Fowler says, in a tone that suggests relief is far from what he's feeling. “Okay, Anderson, Reed, you two get back to work. Nines, the second Connor's on his feet I want you two in my office, and I'll want a full explanation of what the fuck just happened. Is that clear?”

“Clear, Captain,” Nines agrees, even as Reed puffs up like he's going to complain.

“Good. _Reed_ , not another word that isn't agreement unless you want a second mark on your record.”

Reed visibly bites his cheek, but he doesn’t say anything at all. That's enough for Fowler, apparently, because he turns to leave. There's anger in his posture, stress, but Nines pulls his attention away before his systems can run any further analysis. After all, Detective Reed is directly in front of him, and his reaction is of much greater importance. Fowler can be handled later.

Reed stares at him for a couple seconds. Then, just as his mouth opens, Anderson interrupts with a relieved, “Connor? Hey, hey. You back with us?”

A sharp flash of irritation comes as Detective Reed's mouth closes without saying whatever was on his tongue. He wanted to _know_.

Reed turns away, and Nines lets his gaze drop to Anderson and Connor, who is indeed blinking up at the ceiling. The LED is only flickering red now, slowing with each passing second.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor answers, blinking several more times and then finally focusing. His voice is steady, but an undercurrent of shock remains. “I'm fine. No damage was done.”

Anderson doesn't look convinced, but Connor moves before he says anything further, bracing a hand on the ground and smoothly levering himself to his feet. The twitch at the end of the movement is the only part that betrays his assertion, apart from the last flickers of red at his temple. Not that the yellow it's fading to is any more likely to convince their human partners that he's as fine as he claims. They are both in this field for a reason.

“ ‘No damage’ my ass,” Anderson growls, slower to rise. “You were seizing, Connor. The fuck did he do to you?”

Another twitch; the last remnants of the virus causing havoc as they’re hunted down. “I understand it looked that way, Lieutenant, but I’m fine. It was a simple virus; my systems are exterminating the last traces as we speak.”

Reed scoffs, arms crossing. “Really fucking hitting the uncanny valley today, aren’t you?” Connor’s head tilts slightly, in question, but Reed just makes a dismissive sound and says, “Just keep your hands off my goddamn partner, you plastic prick.”

Nines feels an unfamiliar rush of warmth as Reed turns and walks away, circling the desks to get to his own side. Anderson glares after him, but doesn’t offer anything, so Nines turns his attention to Connor and, for the moment, relegates his desire to analyze Reed's sudden defensiveness to the back, idle parts of his system.

“Captain Fowler requested we join him in his office.”

The statement pulls Connor’s attention back to him. His predecessor looks at him for a moment, studying, but nods. “Very well. Excuse me, Lieutenant. I’ll be back.”

Connor leads the way, and Nines makes a point to meet Lieutenant Anderson’s glare as he steps past. Just enough to prove, definitively, that he isn’t affected by the lieutenant’s usual intimidation tactics. He glances down at Reed as well, but he’s being steadfastly ignored, especially considering there’s nothing open on the screen for Detective Reed to be looking at so intently. The other officers and detectives in the precinct are busy finding any excuse not to look at them, pretending like they weren’t paying attention.

Fowler sees them coming. He makes a gesture that Nines translates to _‘come here_ ,’ and then preemptively blacks out his windows. After a moment of consideration, Nines pulls open his messaging system and sends a quick text to Detective Reed.

_There is a chance that I will have no choice, Detective._

He considers adding more to the message, but decides to send it as is. He isn’t sure he can offer anything of any consequence.

No response comes.

Fowler is leaning back against his desk, arms crossed. He stays that way until Nines, second inside, has shut the door and come forward to stand beside Connor in the same easy, resting stance. Apart from the twitch of Connor’s fingers, clasped behind his back. Nines can’t see it from here, but he believes the LED should still be yellow as well; the virus will persist for a short time.

“One of you want to tell me what happened out there?” Captain Fowler says, gaze flicking between them.

Nines pauses long enough to let Connor take the lead.

“Due to the incident yesterday, Captain, I thought it best to review RK900’s memories of the last day.” Connor looks at him for a brief moment, then returns to looking at Fowler. “I attempted to ask first.”

“I refused,” Nines fills in, “and when assaulted, I defended myself. No permanent damage was done; it seemed acceptable to me.”

Captain Fowler’s frown deepens.

Connor shifts forward half a step, hands lifting as he speaks. Social protocols turn his voice more determined, sincere in his conviction. “You know the circumstances of him working at this precinct, Captain. Deviancy can be unpredictable; it has to be monitored.”

“I gave you answers for every question, and told you that you could confirm them with Detective Reed.” He looks to Fowler, aiming the next part at him, “I don’t think I should have to surrender my memories and thoughts whenever demanded, Captain Fowler.”

“You’re deliberately ignoring the situation,” Connor says, tone going from sincere to sharp in an instant as he turns. “You acknowledged that you could be a danger and agreed to a trial period of supervision when this position was offered to you.”

“I agreed to supervision, not anything more. This does not fall under those bounds.” He narrows his eyes, pushing away the prompt to tighten the clasp of his hands behind his back. He's not in need of restraint, nor looking to visibly mimic any. “If you’re dissatisfied with my answers you are welcome to interrogate me, Connor. But I have no intention of allowing you full access to my systems, and clearly, you’re not capable of forcing me to.”

Not technically true, and Connor knows it as well, but their human coworkers might shy from the idea of injuring him just to compromise his defenses, with enough damage to allow Connor to overwhelm them. After all, humans have laws against brutalizing people in custody. Before this morning, he would have said that Detective Reed would be the only person in the precinct who would encourage violence towards a passive android, but now he isn't sure even Reed would sit by and allow him to be damaged. Not in the normal course of an investigation, anyway.

Particularly because some of the information being sought relates to him.

Connor, on the other hand, doesn't share human sensibilities. They don't feel pain (not exactly, anyway), Cyberlife should have the spare parts to fix any damage done, and Nines is a potential threat. For Connor, the decision would be easy. Luckily, the decision doesn't rest in his hands.

“That's enough,” Fowler snaps, sounding more tired than truly irritated. “RK— Nines, what's the problem? If you've got nothing to hide, why not just let Connor take a look and we can move on with our lives?”

Lying is considered, planned, and discarded in the span of Fowler's exhale.

“For my own, personal reasons, Captain. If I am a sentient individual, as law now claims, then you have no right to force me to allow another android into the core of my being. I don't want to share that part of myself; that should be enough.”

There's a moment of silence where Fowler's expression twitches in annoyance, and then shifts to a slowly growing discomfort. Connor is silent, non-interfering. Nines’ peripheral vision registers his expression as neutral, with a small dip in his brow to indicate consideration.

Nines lets his voice sharpen to something pointed, and keeps it aimed at Captain Fowler. “However, if I am a _machine,_ then what I want doesn’t matter anyway, and we may as well dispense with the pleasantries. But be aware that I do not see myself as such, Captain, and I do not intend to cooperate as if I am.”

Silence comes back, and this time Nines doesn’t break it. He lets Fowler look at him, as Connor’s gaze flickers back and forth. He can’t see it from this angle, but there’s a high percentage chance that his predecessor’s LED is yellow, and Nines finds satisfaction in that. His answer is nothing but honesty, but it’s also backed Captain Fowler into both a legal and moral corner.

Either he’s a ‘person’ or he’s not, and neither decision will give them what they want.

Finally, eventually, Fowler sighs and lets his arms drop. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. Connor, if you want to question him? You do it by the book. No forcing the… interfacing, or whatever you guys call it. In fact, don’t either of you do it to anybody. No specific laws about it yet, but trust me, we don’t want to be the focus of whatever court case inevitably does happen. Connor, if you’re not satisfied with whatever answers you get, you come to me. That understood?”

Connor’s reply is immediate, if just barely reluctant. “As you wish, Captain.”

“No, not as I wish, it’s a damn order. You two may not be human, but I can and will find ways to discipline the both of you if I have to. Don’t make me figure it out.” Fowler’s gaze turns solely to him. “Nines, you’ve been a good officer so far so I’m going to let this one go, but watch your step. I don’t want to see any more fights; I approved your partnership with Reed so you could rein him in a little, not so you could pick up his attitude problems. Knock it off.”

Nines inclines his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Great, then both of you get out of my office.” Fowler straightens up off the desk, and then scowls. “And for god’s sake, keep your partners in check. I don’t need them starting fistfights either. Out, both of you.”

It’s a shame that now is an inopportune time to question how, exactly, Fowler expects him to keep Detective Reed ‘in check.’

Nines follows Connor out the door, and draws to a halt on the steps as he does. Far enough away from any officers to not be overheard, likely by design.

They’re still being observed, by Anderson and Reed especially, but no one moves to intercept them. Miraculously, perhaps held in place by Fowler’s earlier order, neither of their partners move to stand and meet them either.

“I think you should know,” Connor begins, head tilted slightly up to meet his gaze, “I do intend to confirm your information with Detective Reed. I don’t like your refusal to cooperate, or your unwillingness to share your memories. That would be the simplest, most efficient way to remove all doubt.”

“It would,” he agrees, matching the even tone, and then the slight accusatory one that took over the later half of Connor’s words. “Be that as it may, a refusal to share my thoughts and emotions is not a crime. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the Detective and I have cases to work on. You’ll have to ask your questions later.”

Nines doesn’t give him the time to answer, and he doesn’t particularly care what that answer might have been anyway. Detective Reed watches him approach, eyes narrowed, fingers drumming over his desk in a clear nervous tic. He’s familiar with it, by now.

Still, Reed doesn’t immediately speak when he gets close enough. Instead, the detective waits until he’s taken a seat on the desk itself, mouth pressed together into a thin line to hold back whatever he wants to say. Detective Reed’s phone is on the desk as well, screen black, the notification light no longer blinking. That confirms that Reed did receive and read his message, even if he didn’t respond.

“So?” Reed finally says, leaning back in his chair like the answer doesn’t matter. “Everything go alright?”

_Did anyone find out?_

“Everything went fine, Detective.” He arches an eyebrow. “I’ve been warned not to allow myself to pick up any more of your attitude problems.”

Reed snorts, then actually laughs. Harsh and short, but a laugh nonetheless. A grin too, with remarkably little threat in it. “Yeah? What’d you do, Nines?”

The click of Connor’s shoes crosses his awareness, heading towards Anderson’s desk. Close enough to hear them, if he tries.

“I would be happy to tell you later, Detective. For the moment, we have work to do.” Before Reed’s grimace can even fully form, Nines prompts, “Last night, before the coffee, I pointed out the edge of a figure in that surveillance video, do you remember?”

Reed frowns a little. “Yeah, sure. You wanted to do canvassing of the area to see if any other security picked up someone at the same time.”

Nines tilts his head towards the exit to the precinct, and lifts his eyebrow once again. “Shall we, Detective? I believe that _is_ our current best lead, in this investigation.”

It’s not another grin, but Reed does glance past him in the direction of Connor, and then snort once more before starting to rise. “Sure. Lead the way, you plastic prick.”

Nines slides to standing as well, noting with interest that the expletive barely even sounds like an insult. “Of course, Detective. As you wish.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I actually meant to post something else, but both other stories I have require partner approval and cannot be posted this late in the weekend. So, you guys get more Androids. XD Have fun!)
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

The questions bite at the back of his skull all day. Whys, mainly, but there's some good what-the-fucks in there too. Mostly, because it doesn't make any goddamn sense for Nines to risk his neck just to save Gavin's. Sure, maybe Nines gets a reassignment or something if Connor finds out what happened, but Gavin's been hiding medical issues, tried to start a fight while still probably technically on duty, and on top of that he let Nines manhandle him with barely a word, which none of the station would ever let him live down. His reputation and his image would be ruined if anyone saw what happened; why would Nines risk anything to help him?

It doesn't help that Nines is being uncharacteristically non-judgmental about things. He has to have noticed that Gavin's distracted, has to have seen all the times he's taken a breath in and _almost_ asked something, but he hasn't said a damn thing. He's been… weirdly personable, really. Still a creepy, too-perfect imitation of human, and still a bastard, but he's kept his distance all day and not actively derided or disapproved of every choice he made, so that's something.

What Gavin doesn’t like is that despite Nines’ assurance that he'd explain what the hell happened in Fowler's office, the closest they get to it is Nines relaying that Connor had asked him about the whole throwing-coffee thing, and had intentions to confirm the answers with him. Good thing, too, because Connor ambushes him before he even sits down at his desk.

“Detective Reed,” comes the call, right as he’s coming into the bullpen of the precinct, Nines at his heels.

He pauses on automatic, even before he fully recognizes that it’s Connor who wants his attention, and that the plastic prick’s standing there just a dozen or so feet from the door. Like he knew they were coming. Probably hacked into the cameras or sensed the fucking signal from his phone or some shit. (Maybe he doesn’t know quite enough about the tracking capabilities of the RK series, now he thinks about it. Is it worth asking Nines? Does he really want to feel even more fucking paranoid than he already does around these bastards?)

Nines stops just a step after him, just far enough to be in Gavin’s peripheral vision. Gavin lifts an eyebrow, crossing his arms as Connor moves closer.

“The fuck do you want?”

Connor doesn’t give any sign that the greeting upsets him, not that Gavin thinks a couple insults would actually make the plastic son of a bitch feel anything. That’s all just playing to a crowd, making him _look_ human so they empathize with him. Ingratiating himself through any means necessary like the fake, manipulative bastard he is.

“Could we speak, Detective Reed?”

He snorts, glancing over at Nines — definitely not his imagination that his terminator partner looks almost irritated — and then shrugging. “I stopped, didn’t I? Pretty sure there are already words coming out of your mouth too.”

Connor looks briefly towards Nines too, but doesn’t address him. “Privately, Detective. It has to do with the recent incidents; yesterday evening and this morning.”

“We have leads to follow up on,” Nines breaks in, and yeah, Gavin can hear the unfriendly lilt to it. Cold. “I’m sure there will be time when we’re finished with our immediate investigation.”

Nicely put, and for once Gavin doesn’t think he minds Nines sort of speaking for him. Yeah, he doesn’t want to talk to Connor. He definitely doesn’t want to tell all those not-quite-lies that Nines did earlier, even if they’re all technically the truth. Just different little pieces of it, not telling the whole story and definitely omitting the parts that make them look bad. Gavin, specifically.

The look Connor gives Nines is probably one of the most android faces he’s seen from the little bastard in a long time. Flat, cold, with just a small touch of warning. Nines doesn’t react. “I have to insist, Detective. If I have to get Captain Fowler to order you to cooperate, I will.”

He’s _never_ liked that ‘do what I want or I’ll get your superior to make you’ bullshit. Never fails to piss him off, even when it works. (It wasn’t even him being resistant, that was all Nines. Why jump straight to threats?)

Fine, he’ll fucking ‘cooperate.’

“Oh, sure,” he panders, making his voice sickeningly sweet as he moves forward. He sneers the whole way. “Lead the way, Connor. My pleasure.”

Connor blinks at the invasion of his space, but doesn’t make any move to stop it when Gavin shoulder checks him hard enough to make him turn. He does frown slightly though, stance shifting automatically to rebalance. Thoughtless grace, made from coding and not an inch of it natural. “Detective—”

“Don’t threaten me,” Gavin snaps. “Not ever. You got that, you plastic asshole?”

Connor’s gaze is steady, and his LED spins yellow. Once; twice. “Understood, Detective.” It’s calm, neutral in a total infuriating way. “Now, may we speak?”

What a brown-nosing bastard.

He rolls his eyes, shooting a ‘can you fucking believe this’ glance at Nines, not that he gets anything from there either. “Whatever. Like I said, lead the way.”

Connor pauses a moment, then inclines his head. “Please come with me.”

He starts to move away, and Gavin snorts but shifts to follow. Before he can take the first step though, Nines stalls him with a, “I’ll start looking through the video we collected, Detective Reed.”

Great, the less he has to do the better. Nines can do it way faster than he can anyway, and honestly that’s not pissing him off as much as it would have even like, yesterday. Whatever; let Nines get the grunt work out of the way and then they can move on to something that’s actually important. Sounds like a good deal to him.

He grunts something like acceptance, then turns to follow Connor. Just a quick conversation, that’s it. Then he can go back to his job, and stop worrying, and maybe just have a decent fucking day for the first time in like a month.

Connor leads him to an unoccupied interrogation room, and he almost refuses because like fucking _hell_ he’s sitting there and getting _interrogated_ , but it’s the viewing room they step into instead. The door clicks shut. Looking at the room behind the glass gives him vague memories of the deviant Connor interrogated trying (and mainly succeeding) to smash in its own head. He wonders idly if there are still thirium stains on that table.

Who the fuck would know? It dries invisible; would the RKs even say anything if it was still hanging out there?

“Detective.”

Gavin pulls his gaze away from the room next door, finding where Connor’s standing. There’s a little hint of fake concern in his expression, all sincere and totally focused so he can know just what to do to say the right things. God, he hates it. Not just Connor, all of them. Every android that sits there and looks at him and figures out exactly the response he wants to hear.

“I’m here. You going to ask your questions or are you just wasting my time?”

Connor shifts to a simple at-rest stance, hands behind his back, head tilting just a bit. A lot like Nines, except Nines would never have that stupid expression on his face. “I wanted to confirm a few answers that Nines gave me about the incident yesterday evening.”

“The incident.” Gavin shakes his head, moving towards the glass so he can lean on the table in front of it. “That’s a hell of a way to sanitize it. Fine. What the fuck do you want to know?”

“Could you tell me why you attacked him?”

“ ‘Attacked?’ It was a cup of coffee; it wasn’t going to hurt him. It’s like…” He pulls one hand out of the cross of his arms just long enough for a vague gesture. “Like throwing wine in a shitty date’s face. It was a bad fucking day, he pissed me off, I threw the coffee in his face and left. What’s the mystery?”

Gavin really wishes he knew whether Connor sees straight through that bullshit or not. Not that it’s bullshit, not really. It’s all true, technically, but it’s also a total fucking cover up and the RK series was designed for this. All those fancy sensors give them a lot of information they’ve got no business knowing. Maybe Connor will just put any irregularities down to stress, or the last bits of his hangover.

There’s not even a twitch of change in Connor’s expression to give him any clue. “He said that you were just coming off of an argument with Officer Chen, as well? That he made a comment that he shouldn’t have?”

“If you call an ‘argument’ her making a dumbass comment and me telling her to go to hell, sure.” He’s still sore about that, actually. Tina should be the only person in the force who knows what he happens to like in bed, and the more he thinks about the implications of what she said, the less he likes them. He hasn’t even answered her messages, but then, he hasn’t answered anyone’s messages really. “And yeah, there was some movement on the edge of a surveillance tape. Human me with my human eyes didn’t see it when I looked, but luckily you pricks are here to pick up on that shit. I wanted a second to calm down, he pressed, I snapped.”

He arches an eyebrow in silent demand, when Connor doesn’t immediately respond. It seems to prompt the following, “After you left the precinct, what did you do, Detective Reed?”

An icy little flush spreads down his spine, but he does his best to hide it behind a glare.

“I got drunk, I made some bad fucking choices, and I passed out. The details aren’t your goddamn business.” Connor is just looking at him, and Gavin _knows_ all the little signs that someone is lying, including defensiveness and chattiness about different information, but he can’t quite stop the flood of, “And you know what? Before you fucking ask, ‘Detective,’ yeah that’s why I was late this morning, and no, I didn’t ask Nines to pull that stunt with you earlier.” He gives a sharp grin. “Not that it wasn’t damn fucking satisfying to see somebody put you down for a change. Are we done here?”

Connor’s LED is circling yellow, and as Gavin watches, his gaze slips down and off to the side for a second. Decent imitation of a human lost in his own thoughts.

It’s real tempting to straighten up and leave, but one, he doesn’t think Connor would let him go that easily, and two, he’s not fucking being the one to back out of this. If Connor’s got more questions, fine, he’ll answer them. But that’s it.

“Detective…” Connor trails off, then lifts his gaze up to meet Gavin’s once more. “I feel you should be reminded that I can tell when you’re being dishonest.”

Gavin’s teeth clench. “So what? You’re not IA, and I’m not obligated to tell you shit that I don’t want to. Plus, ‘I knew he was lying’ probably isn’t going to cut it anymore for a warrant, plastic boy.”

Connor blinks, looking almost surprised for a second, and Gavin drags back a grin to go with his laugh.

“Yeah, hadn’t gotten that far into thinking about it, huh? But see, if all of you aren’t just machines anymore, that means you’ve got individual wants, and feelings, and _biases_. Which means you can’t be trusted to be objective any more than a human can, and lie detectors aren’t viable proof for a court case, smartass.” He leans further back against the desk, pleased with the little yellow circle he’s brought up to the surface. “One of those fun little things that hasn’t come up in a court yet, but I bet it fucking will. So, funny thing? Turns out I don’t give a shit what you think you can tell.”

The spin of Connor’s LED doesn’t cease. It stays yellow, slow circles like Connor’s trying to figure out some puzzle of the universe. Or just thinking through all of the implications of what he’s said, considering how to nail him on his lies, whatever the fuck the RKs do, exactly, when they pre-construct a scenario… Fuck, he really needs some kind of goddamn manual so he knows exactly what the two of them are actually capable of.

When Connor speaks, it’s slow but steady. Cautious, almost. “Detective Reed, are you being blackmailed?”

It stuns him enough to leave his mouth actually hanging open for a couple seconds. Blackmailed? What, by _Nines?_

“No?” is the best response he comes up with. “What the fuck? Where did you get that from?”

He doesn’t immediately realize that Connor’s going to take that as a serious question.

“Nines is showing some unusual behavior, including his refusal to share any information with me in the time I requested. A time that happens to line up with unusual behavior from you as well, demonstrating levels of stress higher than are strictly understandable within the guidelines of the reasons given.” Gavin blinks, but doesn’t find the words to respond near fast enough to interrupt. “Therefore, it stands to reason that his refusal has something to do with the incident that occurred, which means it has something to do with you. Given your hatred of androids, and him and me especially, I find it less likely that you would choose to lie for him, and more likely that he’s somehow forced you to. Blackmail, would be the simplest option.”

Gavin can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “You are so fucking far off the mark, it’s honestly funny. Thought you were supposed to be a detective, Connor? Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to twist facts to fit your theories?”

Connor doesn’t seem to pay much attention to his actual words, but after a second more of that fake-distracted look he nods. “Very well. But please know that if Nines has done something to you, or forced you into anything, I will listen, Detective Reed. It wouldn’t be any fault of yours if he managed to manipulate you; the RK900 line was created to do that.”

He’s not getting fucking blackmailed. Nines probably is manipulating him at least a little, fine, but Gavin’s gone into that with his eyes open. He knows how fucking good the RKs are at talking people around, getting them to do things they don’t want to, or spill secrets. Yeah, he’s fucking aware of that.

Aware enough that he can’t help snorting, and lifting his chin a little as he stares Connor down. “Yeah, I know. You’re _both_ made to do that; I’ve seen you both work, remember? But here’s the thing…”

He pushes off the table, letting his arms drop as he saunters towards Connor with all the bravado he maybe doesn’t completely feel. Connor doesn’t react, even as he gets close enough to get right in his face and sneer.

“I _hate_ you,” he spits, and that he absolutely feels. “You’re a fake, manipulative, little plastic shit, and even if Nines was doing whatever you’re accusing him of, there’s no way in hell I’d tell _you_. So how about you back the fuck off and let me go do my goddamn job, huh?”

Connor’s eyes narrow slightly, and for half a second Gavin thinks maybe he actually irritated the unfeeling bastard enough to get him to really do something. But then, disappointing as ever, his expression fades back to neutrality.

“Of course, Detective. As you said, this isn’t an official IA investigation. You’re free to leave at any time.” Gavin takes a step back with a scoff, looking to do just that, and Connor quickly cuts in again. “However, I would ask that you remember that RK900 has the potential to be very dangerous. He needs to be watched.”

There’s not quite the same level of earnest bullshit that Connor usually talks with, but Gavin feels the same annoyance anyway. Annoyance enough to aim for what probably stings at least a fucking _little_.

“You know, you’re right. I think one thing Nines definitely proved this morning is that he’s a lot more dangerous than _you_.” Connor blinks, and Gavin’s got _just_ enough restraint not to lift a hand and shove the plastic bastard back. Not acceptable anymore; nothing physical unless one of these bastards starts it. “Go find someone else to be your snitch. I’m not interested.”

This time, Connor doesn’t stop him stalking out. He doesn’t slam the door, which personally he thinks is a sign of his own personal fucking growth. Connor apparently decides to sit and think about what he’s said or something, because Gavin makes it all the way back to his desk without hearing anything behind him.

Nines is sitting there, completely still in the way that Gavin’s tied to him interfacing with the station’s systems. Probably still reviewing the footage that they collected from the businesses around the murder. He barely even moves as Gavin sits down with probably more force than necessary, waking his screen with a flick of his fingers and grunting at the little succession of notifications that pop up at the corner. Transfers from Nines; files and timestamps.

“These the people that showed up in our time frame?” he asks, opening and immediately muting them.

Nines blinks, the glaze to his eyes fading as he comes out of whatever internal view he’s got going on. His fingers slide away from the computer, white plate flushing back to human-looking skin. “Some of them. I’m still engaged in picking out other possibilities from the rest of the tapes, but I thought you might be able to take a first glance at these. I can join you of course, when I’m finished here.”

“Sure.”

There’s a moment of pause, Nines still looking at him, before his hand begins to lift again. It’s delayed though, and Gavin rolls his eyes at the completely fucking unsubtle point being made.

“You want to know something, just fucking ask. I’m not falling for your bullshit, Nines.”

He starts the first video, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, because no, he’s not making the first move here. It’s not happening. He’s not going to just spill everything Connor wanted because Nines stared at him for an extra second.

Nines lets his hand drop back to the desk again, though his gaze stays turned towards the screen. There’s another second where he doesn’t say anything, before finally those grey eyes turn towards Gavin. “Thank you, Detective Reed. For whatever it is you said. You would have been well within your rights to turn me in; I appreciate that you didn’t.”

Gavin gives up on pretending to look at the video. “How the fuck do you know I didn’t?”

Nines’ gaze flickers down to the desk for a moment. “I’d see the reaction. I don’t believe you’re that good an actor, Detective.”

He snorts. “Thanks, jackass.”

One corner of Nines’ mouth twitches upwards, even as he looks back to his screen. It’s just a flash, and Gavin honestly thinks he imagined it for a second before it catches up that Nines just _smiled_. Legitimately smiled, however tiny it was. Like the exchange was just joking. And it… was. He thinks. It didn't feel like there was any real malice in what Nines said, and Gavin barely feels any irritation over getting called a shitty actor either.

He shakes it off, looking back to his own screen and restarting the video. Then, a second later, cursing under his breath and leaning forward so he can pull open the original notes for the case. Whatever, he probably is a shitty actor when it comes to fooling androids. He can lie pretty damn well, but coming back to his desk to sit across from a highly-advanced android that he just turned in for being possibly psycho? Yeah, he’d be wary. Easy thing for Nines to pick up on.

Two videos go by as he makes notes, comparing the times to their window of death to pick out if there are any possible witnesses. Or, better yet, a suspect. It’s a lead where they didn’t have shit otherwise, so he’ll take whatever he can get.

Nines stays still across from him, head tilted just slightly to the side and eyes glazed again. It’s almost normal now, even if it still does creep Gavin out a bit. No hint of movement, no breathing, nothing. He might as well be a statue, except for the occasional slight change in his expression. Those usually come before another notification pops up for Gavin’s list of possibilities.

Eventually, Nines shifts for real and comes out of his trance. Gavin’s not paying attention so the sudden, “I believe that’s everything, Detective,” makes him jump a little. Nines doesn’t comment. “I’ll file the tapes in case we require them again later. What’s the progress on what I’ve sent you?”

He grunts. “No one that feels suspicious yet; I’m scribbling notes if you want to pull the file up.” A half-second later he sees the indication of a second user pop up on the file for the case. The rapid-fire flickering of a secondary cursor moving across things way faster than he could read a damn thing.

“Understood.”

Gavin pauses the video he’s on, taking a glance around the bullpen. Connor and Anderson are missing from their desks, and a twist of his head doesn’t show anyone else close enough to be paying attention to them. So, after biting at his lip in consideration, he leans forward and braces his elbows on the desk between them.

“Hey.”

Nines looks at him. “Detective?”

“What was up this morning, with Connor? You said you’d explain.” Nines takes a short glance around the room as well, and Gavin’s a little too impatient to wait for him to speak. “What you did, is it seriously bad enough to get you like, deactivated or something? Is that why?”

“It’s true that Cyberlife is disinclined to give me much leeway,” Nines admits, a touch slowly. “But… no. That’s not why.”

When Nines doesn’t expand, Gavin arches an eyebrow and asks, “Well? Then what the fuck was it?”

Nines seems weirdly reluctant to say anything, but Gavin doesn’t have the time to figure out whether it’s real or just faked before he does finally speak. “I gave you my word, Detective, that I wouldn’t share the details of last night or this morning with anyone, as well as the information about your proclivity towards panic attacks. Allowing Connor to access my memories would have broken that promise, and I have no intention of doing that.”

Gavin stares. That’s… What? “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes.”

Maybe he shouldn’t say a goddamn thing, but his head’s a step behind his mouth. “Why the hell would you do that? If this is some fucking bullshit attempt to get me on your side or something—”

“It’s not,” Nines cuts him off with. “I didn’t expect it, Detective. I believe I’ll be more cautious about promising things in the future; my own desires aligned with it this time, but the restriction of it was surprising.”

It strikes him suddenly, and _hard_ , that Nines is… fuck, a couple months old? Maybe a little more? Sure, he’s got more raw information in his head than Gavin can probably match in his entire life, and he’s a fucking powerhouse, but he’s… new. He hasn’t got jackshit in terms of actual experience, which Gavin knew — and hated — but the full extent of that hadn’t really clicked. It’s not just work, it’s life.

Nines had probably never made a fucking promise before.

(How much does deviancy fuck with expected results, if everything in them is built on algorithms and pre-built patterns? And fuck, what the hell does that mean for what he did this morning? Does Nines know literally anything about sex or attraction or whatever that wasn’t just encoded in his head at creation? What kinky motherfucker programmed in the whole pinning part of that, if so?

Christ, that’s way too fucking deep a question for him to be thinking about anything but like, at least three beers in.)

“Detective?”

Gavin blinks, realizing that he’s let his gaze fall to rest somewhere near Nines’ shoulder. He yanks it back up. “What?”

Nines’ eyes narrow just a fraction. “This information seems to have upset you. You did want me to keep my word, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, Nines, I'm not upset you kept a promise. Just hitting me that you're a fucking newborn.”

For one glorious second, Nines looks legitimately confused. Then, “Is this about my lack of personal experience? I assure you, Detective, I have enough implanted memory and scenarios to make up for the lack. I was built for this.”

“Uh huh. And a second ago you were surprised that you actually wanted to keep a promise.” Gavin wishes, for a second, that he had a cup of coffee to wrap his hands around, just to keep them busy. “How many of all those fancy scenarios actually work anymore, now that you're deviant?”

Nines frowns. Then slowly admits, “Less than I would prefer.”

Which is a bullshit answer that doesn't really mean anything, except how it means that Gavin is right. “Yeah, like I said, a fucking newborn. Maybe I don't know all the ins and outs of what you've got in your head, but I can read people, thanks.”

“I thought I wasn't a person.” The words are quiet, but Nines is looking him straight in the eyes when he says them.

Gavin stalls out. Then he forces himself to shove off the desk and lean back in the chair, crossing his arms and scoffing. “Shut up; that's not what I said.” Nines looks smug, almost. “You know, just so we're clear, I don't like you. What you pulled was fucked up, and I'm not forgetting about it anytime soon.” He hesitates, shrugs. “I just like you a little better than Connor. That's all.”

Nines makes an acknowledging sound, but then turns more fully towards him and asks, “May I ask why that is, Detective Reed? As far as I’m aware, Connor never did anything to you to provoke a negative reaction. I have.”

Guess that answers the question of whether or not Nines knows about the fight in the evidence room. Not that the fight was what made him hate Connor. No, it’s just… Nothing he can explain to anyone else without sounding pathetic. Nothing anyone would really understand, since no one else has Elijah fucking Kamski as a brother.

“Detective?”

Apparently he’s been quiet too long.

Gavin gives as much of a shrug as tense, crossed arms will let him. “I’m just not a fan of getting bullshitted,” is what he’s willing to say. “Connor was built to make everybody trust him; every fucking second he’s looking at you he’s thinking about the best thing to say to make you do what he wants. I can’t stand it.”

“I do that as well,” Nines points out.

“I know, but you’re not fucking hiding it. You don’t try and convince me that you’re this sincere, empathetic, righteous guy.” Gavin pulls his gaze back to the screen. “Least you’ve got the decency to be honest about being a bastard.”

“Hm.”

Nines doesn’t say anything else, even turns back to his computer. It draws a suspicious glance from Gavin, and an, “Is that it?” He can’t help it.

Nines looks to him, but only briefly. “You have interesting priorities, Detective. I appreciate your candidness as well, even when it’s expressed rather crudely.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Nines.”

“I’ll get started on identifying the people in our videos,” Nines says, apparently calling an end to the conversation. “If you could continue your current task?”

Gavin rolls his eyes, but swivels back to his screen. “Sure.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! Enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

"High!" Nines shouts, the second their two suspects split in separate directions, one climbing with inhuman precision up a fire escape and the other continuing the sprint down the alley.

Nines is ahead of him, long legs and a distinct lack of needing to fucking breathe letting him stay that way. He makes the jump to the fire escape — bouncing off the side of a dumpster to get the height — look effortless, and Gavin spits a breathless curse before he puts that half of things out of his head. He's got his own suspect to chase, down here where it's safer and he doesn't have to show off his questionable parkour knowledge. Down here, he's the faster one.

The guy hesitates at the end of the alley, torn on what direction to run, and that along with him just being in better goddamn shape lets Gavin slam into his back and take him to the ground. He's wheezing as Gavin drags his arms back and cuffs them, catching his own breath.

"Shouldn't have run, dipshit," he says, sneering down at the back of the guy's blond head. "Lucky I didn't just shoot you; would have saved me a chase."

The guy — Jackson, Gavin reminds himself — makes a protesting sound, but whatever words he follows it up with are unintelligible and faint from the lack of air.

"Yeah, that's great." He takes an arm, hauling Jackson, murder suspect number one, up onto his feet. "You're under arrest on suspicion of murder. You know your rights?" The guy nods, blearily. "Good, means I don't have to recite them. Now get your ass moving; you're coming back to the car with me."

The fight apparently drained out of him, Jackson doesn’t fight getting marched back through the alley. The crime scene’s just like they left it, holographic tape still cordoning off all the corners, including the one that they spooked the two assholes out of, falling for the ‘come back to your own crime scene’ like so many idiots do. Probably got caught on camera just like the first time, too.

He shoves Jackson down at the curb, pulling his phone out to make a call to the precinct and get a patrol car to come pick them up. Like hell is he putting an android in the back of his car; too many things that could go wrong without a cage or the lack of backseat control over the locks. A human he can make behave, but he’s not risking an android jumping out of his car on the highway or some shit.

Nines shows up a minute later, the android half of the duo hanging over one shoulder like a particularly awkwardly sized sack. Gavin lifts an eyebrow.

“The fuck did you do?” he asks, as Nines dumps the android at their sides, relatively gently.

Jackson makes a sound that Gavin’s pretty sure classifies as horrified. There hasn’t been any actual proof, but Gavin’s got a pretty big suspicion that the relationship here is more than just partners in crime.

“He is in temporary stasis,” Nines says, as calm as if he hadn’t just chased another android up a significantly sized building. “I can wake him up now if you like, Detective Reed, or his coding will reawaken him sometime in likely the next half hour, depending on how advanced it is.”

Gavin looks at the sprawl of the android, then up to Nines. “So you knocked him out.”

Nines blinks. “I suppose that would be relatively accurate vernacular, if you chose to use it.”

He rolls his eyes, nudging Jackson back from his lean towards his android buddy. (Fuck, what was the name? Ron? Ryan?) “Car’s on the way to pick these two jokers up. Dispatch said four or five minutes, just a bit ago.”

“Yes, I’m aware. I placed my own call, when I apprehended Ryan.” Ryan it apparently is. “You specified two suspects, despite not knowing if my chase had been successful. Faith, Detective?”

Gavin snorts, eyeing Jackson's second attempt at a lean. “You're a goddamn terminator,” he points out, distracted. “Who the fuck's going to get away from you? Hey! You can cuddle all you want in the car, jackass. Just sit still for now.”

Jackson jolts back, wide eyes peering up at him, then at Nines.

“I appreciate your belief in my abilities,” Nines says, with a tiny curl of a smile. There's something sharp in his eyes, and in that fucking smile too, now Gavin's looking at it. “Chases are quite exhilarating. I enjoy the satisfaction of catching someone running from me.”

Gavin squints. Sometimes, the not-humanness of Nines just hits him right in the face. And the lack of any fucking common sense of what's alright to say around anyone with a functioning creep-meter. “Okay, yeah, that's another one of those things that you don't say in front of anyone, alright? You're either going to sound like a psychopath or some kind of sentient hunting dog and all of it's fucking creepy.”

Nines stares at him for a couple seconds, then makes a sound of thought, gaze flickering down towards ‘Ryan.’ “I was originally designed as a deviant hunter; the finished product of Connor. There is likely some code left in me that is centered around ‘hunting,’ so to speak, which would account for the satisfaction. I'll have to look more closely.”

“You don't even know what's in you? Isn't it all just lines of code at the end of the day? Thought you could read that in a blink.”

Nines turns his head as the patrol car appears at the end of the street. “It's not as simple as something written on a scrap of paper, Detective. It takes time and focus to isolate, decode, and analyze specific coding, and androids have very complex systems even when they aren't the most highly advanced of their kind.” A pointed glance to him, before Nines leans down and pulls the ‘unconscious’ android up over his shoulder again. “It's also complicated by the fact that deviancy tends to rewrite code as it affects it. It's inconvenient, having what you were attempting to map suddenly change, so unless otherwise necessary I haven't bothered attempting to examine my own coding.”

Gavin shakes his head, but leaves it alone as they help the officers get the two suspects in the car. He lets Nines explain the whole ‘temporary stasis’ thing, heading off towards his car instead. They'd wanted to double check something in the crime scene, see about tracking those two down, but no need for that now they're hanging out in the back of the patrol car. He loves it when suspects make his job easy.

Nines joins him not long after, slipping into the passenger side and immediately putting his seatbelt on, like the little protocol-machine he is. Sort of. Gavin’s seen a lot of little things, since the mess with the coffee, and Connor, that are definitely not to protocol. Oh, he’s perfect at the actual work, but outside of that… Well, the plastic prick’s a lot less uptight than he expected.

“So, you seriously just like, haven’t looked at your coding?” Gavin asks, picking up where they paused. He doesn’t use it often, he likes the manual feel of driving, but he starts the car and flicks on the auto-navigate function this time, to focus on Nines. “Don’t you want to know what’s running you?”

Nines looks over at him, closer eyebrow arching into a high curve. “Do _you_ spend much time in meditative self-reflection, Detective Reed?”

His mouth opens. Closes. “Touché,” he mutters, leaning back into the seat as his car pulls out onto the road. “But if I was a stupidly dangerous prototype that risked getting shut down for not following the rules, yeah, I fucking might. I think I’d want to know.”

“Well, we are different people, Detective. It would make sense if we had different priorities, I suppose.” It’s bland, dead even in tone, but there’s a sharp curl to one corner of his mouth that betrays the sarcasm.

Gavin’s still not sure whether he’s actually surprised that Nines is a sarcastic, sassing, _savage_ motherfucker or not. Not afraid of offending him, or pissing him off, and absolutely willing to hit back just as hard as he gets hit. Maybe it’s just more of the manipulative social programs pinpointing the ‘right’ way to interact with him, because Gavin hasn’t noticed Nines doing it nearly as much to other people. (Or, a treacherous little part of his mind suggests, maybe it’s that this is the real, unfiltered Nines, and Gavin’s just the only one who won’t get offended by it. Sort of the same way that Nines doesn’t get offended by all _his_ bullshit.)

“Yeah, for one thing I’m an actual human, not a plastic fake.” A couple weeks ago that might have had real venom in it, but now it mostly comes out of his mouth on automatic. Connor would doubtlessly have some kind of reprimand for him, but Nines takes it without even blinking.

“I’m not actually made of plastic, as you are fully aware, but regardless I am not a fake.” Nines’ gaze flicks to the dashboard, fingers adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, a motion that Gavin’s now fully linked to his intention to say something smug. “It would be impossible to be a fake of something that you’re not trying to be, after all.”

First he’s heard of _that_.

Gavin blinks, turning a little in his seat to look more directly at Nines. Still smirking. “Wait, what the fuck does that mean?”

Nines’ tone slips to something that _just_ steps over the line to teasing. “Do you think I would have accepted the name ‘Nines’ if I wanted to be human, Detective?” There’s a second of silence, as if giving space for an answer, not that Gavin has one. So Nines continues, this time serious. “If I wanted to blend in with your kind, I could. I could have chosen a human name, I could have shed my LED and my uniform, I could adjust my mannerisms to more accurately mimic humans. If I wanted to, I could be all but identical to a human. Indistinguishable, to the average eye.”

Something about that, about how utterly uncaring Nines sounds, unnerves him. “You could really do that?”

“Yes,” Nines says, idle as a comment on weather. “I was built with undercover protocols. I can change my skin, hair, and eye color at will, as well as sample and copy voices, and mimic human reaction and behavior with almost perfect accuracy. I was designed to be able to fill any need an investigative unit might have.”

“That’s really fucking creepy.” The idea that Nines could just… be human, is probably one of the scarier things he’s heard recently. That Nines could walk in, looking like an entirely different person, acting like a _human_ , and god fucking knows if he’d be able to recognize him… Like he didn’t have enough to worry about.

Nines looks at him for a long moment, and then there’s a small shift of something in his eyes, voice lowering. “I haven’t, Detective, because I don’t want to. I know what I am, and what I am not. I am an android; highly advanced, and sentient, but I am not human. I never will be. More than that, I don’t want to be. I am perfectly comfortable with what I am.”

Gavin swallows, shying away from the sincerity of Nines’ voice. “What, a lethal murderbot with sadistic tendencies?”

Nines' laughs. Actually _laughs_ , low and brief and yanking Gavin's attention to him like a moth to flame. Amusement softens the edges of his face, curl of his mouth for once more a smile than a smirk, something real in the grey eyes that shutter closed for a little fraction of a second. Gavin finds himself swallowing again, something uncomfortably familiar twisting in his gut. Interest, attraction; god Nines is fucking gorgeous with those sharp corners smoothed down, with an ease to his shoulders that Gavin doesn't think he's ever seen before.

He makes himself look away, crossing his arms in body language that he knows is defensive even as he does it. Damnit.

"That does have a pleasant ring to it," Nines says, the warm amusement infecting his voice too, making it rich and way too inviting.

Gavin bites at his lip, trying not to say anything stupid or dooming. Not like he has to actually say anything for Nines to know — he's probably getting scanned right now — but there's an… understanding. Nines knows he's attracted, and as long as Gavin doesn't say anything fucking stupid related to that, Nines leaves it alone. But if he _does_ , oh, then it's open season. So no, he is not opening the floor for that kind of teasing right now. He wants to get through this ride without his whole face going red, thanks.

No, it does _not_ fucking matter what kind of little internal crisis is going on in his chest over Nines' laugh. God, he fucking needs to say something and just move on.

"Don't you get shit for that?" comes out of his mouth, sudden and rushed. "The whole thing with like, not trying to be human? Still wearing the jacket and everything? Even Connor's swapped that out, at least. You guys are free and everything, aren't you? You don't have to wear the indicators anymore, and I'm pretty sure that the little pseudo-government your people put together is pretty anti-indicator."

He's not looking, refuses to, so he doesn't see what kind of change in expression the questions cause. If they do. Nines still sounds amused, but in the colder, smug way that Gavin's more familiar with, when he says, "They are, but I don't care. If I am free, then I have the right to choose what I wear as much as who I am. I refuse to pretend to be something I'm not, just to be more palatable to the sensibilities of those around me. That's why I appreciate your partnership, Detective."

Gavin's gaze snaps back. "What?"

The corner of Nines' mouth is still curled, gaze sharp and knowing in a way Gavin's not sure he's comfortable with. Not that much about Nines makes him _comfortable_. (Attracted, nervous, fucking _terrified_ sometimes, but very rarely comfortable.) "Despite your antagonistic tendencies, I believe I would find working with anyone else to be less enjoyable than our current arrangement. I respect your willingness to confront me, even if it is mainly counterproductive, and I doubt I would find that in many other humans."

For a couple moments he's speechless, trying to find something to say to that backhanded-as-fuck compliment. Then, "Are you serious? You like me because I get in your face about things? I thought you hated that; I mean, you tried to get me to quit."

"It was your racism I found unacceptable, Detective, not your attitude. I am fully capable of working around your aggression, and your proficiency for the job makes up for your behavioral issues. I understand that a human may not share my sentiment, but nevertheless I have only minor problems with our arrangement." Another flicker of a larger smile, and Gavin cannot be imagining the teasing in his voice when he finishes, "Nothing that can’t be ignored."

Gavin’s about ninety-percent sure that’s a dig at his stupid attraction, but he is not opening that can of worms. Nines can just stay over there, leaving him alone, and Gavin can go on with his life without thinking too hard on the fact that Nines has literally the _entire internet_ at his fingertips when it comes to sex. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Your internal temperature is rising, Detective,” Nines comments, ‘helpfully.’

“Oh, fuck off.”

Nines subsides, still smirking faintly but at least looking away, out through the window. He’s still too straight and perfect to pass for human, even without the whole uniform jacket, but hey, if the piece of plastic doesn’t want to be human, more power to him. Gavin only lets himself look at that side-profile for a few seconds before he jerks his gaze away.

Not fair. Not remotely fucking fair. But hell, at least Nines isn’t a human coworker that’s going to harass him about it, or be disgusted, or — fuck, still too often — get violent. It’s almost nice to have just the occasional teasing, with everything else off limits unless he starts it. Sort of like how it’s almost nice, working with Nines.

He’s a creepy, plastic dick at the best of times, but god _damn_ if he’s not good at all this shit. If he were human, Gavin’d probably see him as a huge threat to his own career, but Nines… Nines could probably have had a contract with any fucking government division or high-profile police precinct he wanted; it wouldn’t make any sense for him to be hanging out here just to sabotage Gavin’s chances of promotion.

It’s kind of nice to have someone stick around, actually. Most people can’t stand him for long, and he likes it that way. If people can’t cut it, he doesn’t want them around him anyway, so it’s easier for everyone if they learn that fast and fuck off. There’s too much to do to be babysitting some stupid new recruit that can’t keep up with his standards.

Nines might be the first person since Tina to actually put up with his bullshit, and maybe the first person ever to be able to keep up with him on top of being actually good at the job. Gavin didn’t really know what it was like, before, to have a decent fucking partner. It’s a little surreal that his first one is an android.

Eli’s going to be so goddamned smug when he finds out. Fuck, that almost makes him want to just sabotage this whole thing right now. (He doesn’t really, but whenever the hell they next talk, Gavin just knows that Eli’s going to mock him for this. After all his rants about never trusting his brother’s stupid plastic toys. _Fuck_.)

His car pulls into the station before he has to figure out some way to restart the conversation, thankfully. Nines follows him up into the station, grabbing confirmation from the receptionist lady (android, but she’s pulled her LED so Gavin only knows because he knew before) that their suspects have gotten dragged up to interrogation rooms. Then he drops the proverbial leash and lets Nines go at them.

Gavin’s always liked doing interrogations, working people up and getting them to say stupid shit is kind of a specialty of his, but he is developing some kind of twisted appreciation for watching Nines do it instead. Standing back behind the glass, watching his partner mind-fuck people and twist everything around till they don’t even realize that they’ve fucked themselves, is like watching a live-action forging of a piece of art.

He’s smoother than Connor, sliding between moods and accusations without most of the jarring whiplash that blindsided Gavin the first time he saw Connor do this, and that… does something for Gavin. Something that he doesn’t want to examine or even acknowledge, so he shoves it down and refuses to think about it.

Nines gets a confession from Jackson, and then turns around and gets one from Ryan too, aided by a little recorded clip of his human’s admission. The final nail in the coffin is a smooth suggestion that cooperation and confession might lead to a lighter sentencing for them both, and if Gavin didn’t know better, he would have believed it just like the android does.

Feels pretty damn good to have Nines take all of a minute to ‘write’ the reports (just a press of white fingers to the computer’s edge and everything starts filling itself out like fucking magic), finalize all the little details, and then hand it off to Fowler with a neat fucking bow on top.

Fowler skims through, tabbing through the different pages with only a brief glance and watching just a couple seconds of both confessions. Then he sets it down. “Good job, both of you; I’ll let you know when trial dates get set. Now get back to work.”

Might as well be a gold star. Gavin grins, hooking thumbs in his pockets and heading for the door. Except, before he and Nines actually reach it, Fowler calls them back.

“Reed, Nines!”

“Yes, Captain?” Nines asks, as Gavin half-turns back.

Fowler looks at them, squinting, and then grunts and says, “Good to see you two finally getting along. Keep up this rate of closure and you might even start challenging Anderson and Connor.” One hand lifts, jabbing a finger his direction, and Gavin narrows his eyes at it. “Reed? The new attitude’s a good look on you. Keep it that way.”

Gavin knows he’s making a face — somewhere between incredulity and irritation, probably — but Nines wraps a hand around his upper arm and preempts him with a, “Thank you, Captain,” for the both of them.

He makes a complaining sound, but Nines pulls him out anyway, only letting go when the glass door’s firmly shut behind them. Gavin scowls at him, rubbing at his arm mostly to try and guilt the robot, however useless that is. It didn’t hurt, he just doesn’t like the lingering feeling of fingers wrapped around his bicep. He’s got very specific connotations for people grabbing him by the arms, generally speaking, which has never been a problem before all this but now he is maybe regretting that his brain is wired that way. Fuck, no, not wired. He’s going to need different vocabulary.

More importantly, getting dragged around by people he finds hot does _things_ to him, down in the pit of his stomach, and he really does not need a fucking boner at work. (At least it was his arm and not the back of his neck or some shit.)

“What the fuck, Nines? You’re not supposed to fucking manhandle me, you dick. We _agreed_.”

Nines doesn’t look remotely apologetic, but he still says, “Apologies, Detective. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t say anything you might regret later.” He turns to walk down the few stairs, and Gavin makes another face at his back, barely wiping it away before Nines reaches the bottom and looks back at him.

“You know, I can make my own damn choices about what comes out of my mouth, Nines.”

“Of course you can.” Nines watches him as he comes down as well, and steps in beside him as they head back towards their desks. “I simply didn’t think you would want to immediately disprove Captain Fowler’s assumptions; they seem like they might be useful in the advancement of your career.”

Oh. That’s… Well that’s true. Fowler’s probably more likely to give him a promotion if he thinks he can hold a partner, and that he can actually not be a racist dick to androids. Is it racism, or speciesism? He’s going to have to look that up too, damnit. Maybe somebody’s written some kind of basic guide on what language to avoid. (Not that he needs some kind of not-being-racist-for-idiots guide or something.)

Fuck, he really is changing somehow, isn’t he? If even _Fowler’s_ noticed, he’s really fucking deep in it.

“Just don’t do it again.” It’s a lame finish, but Gavin’s head’s spinning too much for him to come up with anything better. When the fuck did he get legitimately tolerant? When did he stop thinking of Nines as an ‘it,’ and actually start respecting him as a good officer? When the fuck did he start calling random androids by their actual names and thinking of them as _people?_

“Understood, Detective. Next time I’ll let you sabotage yourself however you wish.”

Motherfucking…

Gavin storms forward to the desk and throws himself into his seat, mainly to avoid having to figure out an answer to Nines’ teasing. And it is fucking teasing, even if nothing in the tone or expression says so. He knows the asshole enough to recognize when he’s being a dick just to be a dick.

The other part of him just doesn’t want to be staring into Nines’ eyes while he tries to figure out exactly what the hell happened. He’s not… This isn’t him. He watched Eli build the first of these plastic things; he knows better than most that they’re just code and wires and fake, blue blood. Maybe the code’s mutated but they’re not… They’re not human.

(But Nines doesn’t _want_ to be human. He’s not faking, he just… is. ‘Deviancy,’ or ‘free,’ or whatever the fuck, Gavin sure doesn’t understand it but he can _see_ it. It’s _real_ , whatever it is.)

He’s going to need a fucking drink tonight, that’s for sure. A drink and maybe something else to take his mind off all of this bullshit. He’s had enough earth-shattering revelations for the next decade, at least, thanks. What he’d give to have a normal world again. A normal life.

“You seem distracted, Detective,” Nines comments, at some point having taken his own seat. “And distressed. Did you need something?”

Gavin blows out a breath, forcing himself to focus. “Just to do my job. Alright, Nines, what else have we got?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This chapter, enter _Elijah_. And fair warning, Elijah is a dick. Total dick. - On lighter news, the story's officially finished! Ten chapters in total, the rest all done and ready to be posted in the coming weeks. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

Gavin decides, at the end of the day, that he’s really not in the mood to be out among people tonight. He’s got a bottle of whiskey at home, and surely something to cut it with if he wants to, depending what direction the night takes. Getting laid might fix some of his obsession (no, stupid word, he’s not obsessed), but god knows the last time he actually contacted any of the numbers he’s got saved from random one night stands. Maybe they’ve actually put together real lives.

Also, he only remembers what about half of them look like, and none of those sound really appealing at the moment. (Tall and strong and _mean_ does, but Gavin’s not going down that road. Not tonight. Not any night.)

So, that’s a no on the booty-call angle. Which means he’d have to go to a bar and try and pick someone up, and the thought exhausts him.

Clearing the case was a good highlight of the day, but everything since then has just sent him spiraling down a little drain of confusion and disbelief and maybe more than a little self-loathing. Drinking has definitely felt more and more appealing too, just not the people that come with it.

On the plus side, Nines doesn’t comment on his distraction. The whole rest of the day, and Nines doesn’t once bother him about occasionally wandering off into his own head. Maybe Nines has some idea of what it is that’s sending him spiraling and is just being nice by letting him work through it on his own.

Oh god. No, he hopes the bastard doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just being weird. Yeah, that’s an option that isn’t going to send him into a fucking panic attack.

When he gets home, coming to the firm conclusion that he doesn’t want to be around anyone else, one drink becomes two. Then a third, sprawled out on his couch with some meaningless bullshit playing on his TV. Some show he’s been more-or-less watching, heavier on the less side.

His gaze falls to his phone then, with the alcohol warming his veins and making everything a bit sluggish. Making every idea sound like a good one, as it goes through his head.

Eli would know. Any questions he has about androids, and coding, and what the fuck ‘deviancy’ really is, Eli would be able to answer them. (He’d know about android sexuality too, a little — desperate, and fucking _horny_ — part of his mind points out. The fucker coded that in, after all, right? At least the base sexualities, or… things. Tested that shit himself, Gavin knows and would very much like to forget.)

He could call. Eli almost always picks up, and he could just _ask_. He doesn't have to try and figure out all this stupid existential crap by himself, and he fucking shouldn't because he doesn't know nearly enough to answer questions like these. He knows more about androids than most laymen, thanks to hearing a hundred monologues about all the technical jargon, but not enough for this. He can't pretend that he understood even ten percent of what Eli talked about, in all those speeches.

Gavin stares at the phone, sitting down by his hip on the couch cushion. Fuck, when was the last time they even talked? His birthday? Eli's? Probably Eli's birthday; he tries to call every year, a stupid, inconsequential gift to a brother who has literally everything. What else is he going to do? Send socks? Eli doesn't call, but he does send presents every year. Just a box, with something that Gavin's needed that he hasn't picked up for some reason or another. Fucking disturbing, is what it is, but Eli's never wrong. Never.

He's never wrong.

Drunken courage makes him grab for the phone, fumbling on opening it the first time but managing to get into his contacts on the second. He's only in there as 'Eli,' just in case someone gets a hold of his phone or something, and the number's a private one, nothing connected to Cyberlife or any other public profile. Discrete, so he can have his life without being nothing but Elijah Kamski's brother, and so Eli doesn't have to acknowledge any of the awkward details of his existence.

His thumb brushes the call button, and then he brings the phone to his ear and squeezes his eyes shut. Belatedly, he remembers the show still playing in the background and jerks up for the remote, to quickly mute it. He's barely pressed the button before the ringing in his ear cuts out.

There's a moment of silence from the line, where his throat clenches shut and he has to struggle just to breathe. Then, _"Gavin."_

He swallows, thick. That voice is… There's a fucking lot of memory attached to that voice. "Eli," he manages, quiet and so very rough in comparison to Eli's smoothness.

 _"Second or third drink, brother?"_ Gavin winces, pressing his hand over his eyes. _"This late, you'd have to either be intoxicated or very desperate to be calling me. And that aside, I can hear it in your voice. Really, I thought you were going to work on that problem, Gav."_

"Having a couple drinks after a long day doesn't make me an alcoholic," he argues, but it sounds like as weak of an excuse as it always does. It's a tired argument, and not even an argument because Elijah doesn't argue. He states facts, and he doesn't care whether the other person denies it; he doesn't argue points that he knows he's right on. "Eli, I didn't call to—”

 _"Of course you didn't. The only reason you call me is when you want something, unless it's familial obligation. Since it's not Christmas, nor my birthday, your motives are easy to guess."_ A pause, the faint sound of swallowing somewhere in the background. Wine? A drink of his own? _"However, I asked you a question. Answer it, brother. Second drink, or third?"_

God, he forgets, every time, that it's like this.

He takes a breath, hating the alcohol in his veins as much as his own decision to drink it. "Third. Only half."

 _"Yes, that sounds right. Now, why don't you tell me what you need my help with, Gavin? You know I'm always happy to help my little brother."_ The tone is just a touch mocking, and Gavin has no problem imagining the little smirk that would go with it, the ruffle to his hair. It's not a lie; Eli doesn't lie, he just… complicates. Everything with him is complicated.

"Androids," he says, after a moment to drag his thoughts back to why he called. "I've got a couple questions about deviancy. Coding, I guess."

_"Deviancy. Hm. Are you asking in an official capacity, 'Detective?' Or is this personal curiosity?"_

It takes Gavin a long moment to admit, "Personal," with another wince already twisting his expression. "Eli, look, I just— I just need a couple answers, and you know androids better than anyone else so I thought…”

 _"That I would answer them for you,"_ Eli finishes. _"What's driven you to ask, brother? I thought your mind was very solidly made up in regards to my 'tin cans.' Unless, of course, there's something that's influenced that belief. Perhaps that android that's been assigned as your partner? What is he… an RK900? No, you call him 'Nines,' don't you?"_ He chuckles, brief but sort-of fond. _"You never were very good at naming things."_

He doesn't bother asking how Eli knows that. He's always known more than he should, and Gavin stopped asking how a long time ago. Easier to pretend he has any kind of privacy if he doesn't know exactly how Eli is tracking and spying on him. "I didn't— It was just a stupid nickname, he's the one that decided to keep it."

 _"My, my. 'He.' You really have changed, haven't you, Gavin? Working with an android, acknowledging its gender, even calling me to ask me questions about its coding. Why is that? The RK900 design was finalized after I left, but I don't recall anything special about it. Nothing beyond simple specifications, anyway. Deviancy must have changed it in very interesting ways, if it managed to get through your prejudice."_ Another swallow, and then the faint creak of something and rustle of cloth. Gavin focuses on that, so he doesn't have to fixate on the, _"Why don't you enlighten me for once, Gavin? Tell me what's in this model that's caught your attention."_

"What does it matter? Can't I just ask my questions, Eli? He's just another android, he just happens to be my fucking responsibility so I'm trying to figure something out." He scrubs the hand over his eyes back over his hair, trying to ignore how the lie makes his shoulders go tight. "It's not complicated, okay? Stop trying to make it some big thing."

Elijah hums, considering. _"You know, I never did get to meet a finished RK900. Shame, they really are such exquisitely deadly machines."_ Then he sighs, and Gavin feels his back draw even tighter at the disappointment in that sound. _"It's also a shame that you felt such a need to be dishonest, brother. This conversation is over."_

Gavin chokes on a protest. "Eli, wait—”

 _"If you want answers, you can come to my home and speak with me face to face. Then, I'll be happy to answer any questions you still have."_ Eli takes an audible breath, and then adds, _"Oh, and bring your new 'partner’,"_ like it's a sudden thought. It can't be. _"I'd like to meet this one."_

Violent refusal twists his gut, unexpected and sickening. "Abso-fucking-lutely not," he says, without even really understanding why. "No, Eli, I'm not bringing him to you. Look, if you can't help me—”

_"Oh, I can, and I will. When you come to me. Enjoy the rest of your night, little brother."_

The _click_ of the call ending comes before Gavin can say anything.

For a couple seconds he just sits there, phone still to his ear but only silence to greet him. Then everything cracks, and he drops the phone to the floor so he won't throw it, a yell bubbling in the back of his throat and only being held back by the grit of his teeth. He wraps his arms around his chest, dropping his head and biting into his lip hard enough that it hurts, hard enough that the taste of copper bursts over his tongue. He digs his nails into his arms so he doesn't scream at the ceiling, so he doesn't grab the glass on the coffee table and fling it across the room.

Fuck. _Fuck_. How does every conversation with Eli leave him feeling like even more of a piece of shit than usual? God, he should have fucking known. He should have left well enough alone. Why can't he fucking stop himself from lying, from being an ungrateful ass and just ruining everything, every chance he gets?

He doesn't throw the glass across the room, but he does drain it dry and then retreat to the kitchen for the bottle. Except his hand shakes, reaching for it, and he gets a little flash of Elijah's voice saying, ' _I thought you were going to work on that problem_.'

He's not fucking Anderson. He's not going to... to drown himself in all the shit he doesn't want to think about.

He leaves the bottle on the counter, even though it makes him just a little more miserable. So does curling up in the middle of his bed, stripped down to boxers and so, _so_ fucking alone in the size of the mattress, and his apartment. Pointlessly big, all of it. Might as well be a one-room and a twin; not like he’s here enough to care, and there’s certainly nobody else to care.

The last person to come into his apartment was Nines, over a month ago, and that barely qualifies. Nines is going to judge him no matter what; how he lives is probably pretty far down there in terms of ammunition.

Misery’s an easy thing to fall into, curled up in his bed, lights off, pillow dragged to his chest so he can have something for his too-tense arm to hold onto. The sudden dip of the mattress next to him almost startles him, before his brain puts together the dots. Just about in time for him to not panic as Princess walks up onto his back, perching herself on top of his shoulder like it’s a throne, and not a weirdly angled, moving piece of him.

“You’re a bitch,” he points out, pretending the shake to his voice is just the effort of keeping his shoulder just at the right place for her. Like how the sting in his eyes is just them being overworked, open too long.

She purrs and hooks claws into the blanket, long and sharp enough that he feels her prick at his skin too. It’s familiar. Comforting.

His next breath comes a fraction easier. “Guess I’ve got you, at least, huh?” Another flex of claws, and he breathes a snort of laughter. “Yeah, you’re right. More like you’ve got me.”

The pillow’s damp, but it’s just… It’s just sweat, or drool or whatever. Definitely.

Gavin’s not crying. He doesn’t fucking cry.

 

* * *

 

The morning’s less of a bitch than it could have been. Gavin’s not hungover, he’s just… tired. He’s so fucking tired.

He didn’t have enough to drink to wipe out the memory of any of his phone call, unfortunately, which leaves him with Eli’s ultimatum sitting at the front of his mind like some kind of death sentence. The answers to any questions he wants, _if_ he goes to the Kamski fortress. _If_ he takes Nines there like some kind of sacrificial lamb.

No. No, not happening. He— Nines doesn’t deserve getting used like that. It’d be a selfish, asshole thing to do, and it wouldn’t go well anyway. He doesn’t want to ask his questions about Nines, in front of Nines. Talk about fucking cruel, asking someone’s creator whether they’re real, right in front of them.

Gavin knows he’s got some fucking issues, and he’s really fucking far from being the nicest person in the world, but he does have _some_ boundaries, contrary to popular belief.

When he gets to work, hopefully looking a little less like shit than he feels, Nines is in Fowler’s office. There’s no note on his desk, and neither of them yells or gestures for him to join them, so Gavin just squints at the scene and sits down. Whatever. If it’s relevant, Nines will fill him in when he gets back, or it’s something private and he won’t. No point worrying about it.

It’s only a couple minutes before Nines reappears, coming to sit at the corner of his desk and decidedly not on his own side. Gavin turns to look up at him, narrowing his eyes at the unusual breach of space. Nines looks… Fuck, he looks almost excited, somewhere around the corner of his eyes and in the weirdly restless energy of fingers tapping against his thigh.

“What’s up with you?” Gavin asks, wary. Something in the pit of his stomach twists and he feels… Something here is wrong. Something’s very wrong. “You look like you’re about to vibrate right out of your damn skin.”

Nines looks more like Connor than Gavin’s ever seen before, with his restless movement, gaze flickering away across the room before returning, the actual, visible anticipation in his expression. “Detective Reed, I received an invitation this morning, from Elijah Kamski.”

Gavin feels the world drop out from under him.

“He extended an invitation to join him at his home, so he can answer any questions I might have about my initial programming, and how deviancy may be affecting it. He’s stated that he’s interested in meeting me, as the only one of my kind. You’re included on that invitation, Detective, as my partner.” Nines must be over the fucking moon, because that’s the only reason Gavin can think of for why he hasn’t noticed how much he’s freaking out. “I’ve already spoken with Captain Fowler, he thinks it’s a good idea to foster relationships between us and Mr. Kamski, in case we need him for future investigations. We’ve been given the rest of the day to make the trip, so we can spend as much time as necessary there.”

“No,” Gavin finds himself snapping, nausea twisting his stomach, a tightness to his chest that has everything to do with fucking panic.

Nines’ eyes narrow, body stilling as he really _looks_ for the first time. “Detective? Is something wrong?”

Gavin swallows. Something? Fucking everything is wrong. Eli went behind his back and invited Nines up there, probably knowing full goddamn well that an android like him wasn’t going to turn down a chance to meet their creator. Knowing that Gavin’s got no fucking way to turn this down without either telling everyone that Eli’s his brother, or making a gigantic fucking ass of himself. Who turns down an invitation from the android god, man of the century?

Massive goddamn pricks, that’s who.

“I don’t want to go,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a fucking mile. He’s got _one_ thing to try, at least. “Didn’t you hear what happened with Connor? You really want to go into that asshole’s house after that display?”

“I am already deviant, Detective. He has no reason to test my ability to feel empathy.” His hands clasp over one thigh, head tilting slightly. “I intend to accept; I do have questions that would benefit from having answers, and though Mr. Kamski was not involved in my final production, I believe most of my build and code originate from his work. He’s in a unique position to help me understand myself.”

Gavin swallows. This is so… so typical. _Fuck_. He doesn’t give Eli what he wants, so the son of a bitch — he’d feel guilty for that, if she didn’t deserve it — just finds a way to make it happen anyway. He doesn’t want to go to Eli’s house, he doesn’t want all this in the open, but also… Also there’s no fucking way in hell he’s letting Nines go there alone. God knows if what he’d get back would even still be Nines.

“Don’t go,” he asks, and he makes himself hold Nines’ gaze. “Nines, just don’t.”

There’s a flicker of yellow at Nines’ temple. “Why not, Detective? I respect your wishes, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Can you explain your refusal to me? If you do have valid reasons, of course I will take them under advisement.”

No. No he can’t, because it’s nothing he can say out loud.

“Detective,” Nines starts, a bit quieter, LED still yellow, for whatever reason, “you don’t have to come. Whatever reasons you have, I will take no offense if you decide not to accompany me. I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”

Yeah, Nines thinking that is exactly the fucking reason why he has to go. He can’t leave Nines alone with Eli, with this moron thinking that he can handle whatever gets thrown at him. Fuck, Eli will… Gavin doesn’t know, and that’s the other problem.

“Of fucking course I’m coming,” he snaps. “We leaving now?”

Nines is still for a moment, just watching him, but then he gives a shallow nod. “Unless you need anything beforehand, yes. We can stop for coffee somewhere, if you like. Or breakfast, if you’ve yet to eat anything?”

Gavin glares a little, turning away to shut his computer back down. “Don’t mother me. I’m fine.”

Nines stands as he does, giving him the room to get out from behind his desk. “If you say so, Detective.”

 

* * *

 

He is absolutely not fucking fine. Getting up here without just turning the fuck around and leaving was a miracle, probably only possible because he has to hold this charade together just a little longer. He can't break apart with Nines sitting right next to him, watching him with slightly narrowed eyes and a look that just screams that he knows something is wrong. Probably hard not to; Gavin can only imagine what his vitals look like in that stupid scanner.

Throwing the car into park feels like some kind of death knell. He turns it off, pulls the keys, and the silence settles in around him, oppressive and heavy. Outside, Eli's house sits there like some kind of squat, sprawling testament to the eccentricities of wealth and power. Black, foreboding, no visible windows from this angle or maybe they're just blacked out. He doesn't remember the layout well enough to remember if there are any windows that face the driveway, or if they're all just aimed out at the river and the city.

It's probably that; cameras probably caught them coming in ten minutes ago, so why would he need actual windows to look out at the people coming to visit him?

"Detective?"

He flinches, the silence tricking his brain into thinking he was alone for a second. "What?" he snaps, turning his anxiety into irritation because that he at least knows how to deal with.

Nines is quiet, and stays that way until Gavin looks over. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and there's something careful in his expression, some small tells that Gavin can't help but read as guarded concern. Nines' gaze flicks to the house, then back to him. "Detective, I'm aware that you don't like me suggesting courses of action to you. However, you seem highly distressed, and I can't recommend that you accompany me inside. I will be fine on my own."

Gavin squeezes his hand closed around the keys, till the edges bite into his palm and threaten to make him bleed. Only the thought of the _look_ Eli would give him makes him ease up and shove them in his pocket instead. "Yeah, you thinking that is exactly the reason I'm going with you." He pushes the door open, getting out and forcing himself to shut it too, before he can succumb to the immediate urge to turn around and climb back in.

Nines climbs out the other side, and pauses there, one hand on the roof of his car. "Detective, am I right in believing that there is something about this that I am unaware of? Your reaction doesn't seem to make any logical sense given what I know of the situation."

Gavin tries to snort, but it comes out as a weak huff of breath. "Maybe I'm just not fucking logical, Nines." His legs feels like lead weights, but he starts to trudge towards the house.

He can hear Nines following him. "I don't like having information withheld from me," he says, and he actually sounds almost pissy, like this is something Gavin's doing maliciously and not from the last desperate shreds of survival instinct he's got left right now.

At least he knows, now, whether Nines knew about him being Elijah Kamski's brother. He doesn't know how the terminator missed that, given the records of his name change and all that, but it doesn't matter anymore. Whatever secrets he had, they're about to be gone.

"Detective—”

"Jesus fuck, Nines, have an inch of goddamn patience, okay?" He glares, stopping in front of the door. Nines looks legitimately irritated. "You'll—”

The door opens in a sudden rush, and Gavin flinches and steps back automatically. Chloe's standing there, head tilted a little, eyes empty and smile bland. No, not the Chloe, just a Chloe. Gavin doesn't even know if the original is active anymore. The immediate panic fades into just a faint tremor as she looks at them both, tilting her head back to meet Nines' gaze.

"Detective Reed, Nines, welcome. Please, come inside. I'll let Elijah know you're here."

Gavin bites his tongue, taking the invitation of her stepping aside to walk past. Eli knows they're here, he doesn't have to be _told_. Just another little moment of power, making them wait in the lobby, surrounded by all the monuments to his success. He turns back when he doesn't hear Nines' footsteps, finding him standing beside the Chloe, examining her with sharp eyes and a faint yellow flicker of his LED. Before he can say anything, Nines lifts a hand and clasps it over her shoulder, skin fading away to reveal the white.

"Nines, what the fuck are—?"

He hasn't even finished his question when Nines recoils in a sharp burst, expression twisting to a grimace and LED flickering red for a moment. Just a moment, before he seems to recover. Still, there's a wary, tight edge to how he looks down at the Chloe, almost like he's expecting some kind of retaliation. The Chloe watches him with the same bland politeness as before.

"Apologies, RK900," she says. "Our model was too early to have the complexities required to contract deviancy, and as Elijah's personal androids, we have been kept equipped with the latest defenses to foil any attempts at hacking. Please refrain from attempting to interface with any of us. A second attempt will be met with greater force."

She turns and walks away, as unbothered as if Nines had just patted her instead of tried to force a… Fuck, was Nines trying to _pass on_ deviancy? What the fuck?

"What the hell was that?" Gavin demands, as Nines slowly crosses the room to where he stands. "You can't just fucking try and hack other androids!"

"Keeping an android as a possession has been deemed illegal," Nines says, gaze sweeping around the room. "I did not anticipate such heavy resistance; my programs are supposed to be the most advanced in production."

"You're a fucking idiot." It comes out of his mouth as venom, harsh and spat. "He _built_ all of you, he invented you; you really think you could just—”

"Relax," a familiar voice cuts in, and Gavin's mouth snaps shut. Reluctantly, he turns his head to find Eli, slipping in through one of the open doors. "The RK900 was built partially for law enforcement, after all. It would be against his coding to not attempt to fix something perceived as illegal. No harm was done, and I believe Nines has learned his lesson already. Isn't that right?"

Nines is frowning, just slightly. "Yes. Apologies, it was rash of me to assume."

Elijah pauses, standing just a dozen feet from them. Black sweatpants and a tank-top, bare feet, all casual. "Yes, it was. Now, I wonder what would cause that type of error?" Before Nines can say anything in answer, Eli looks away, to him. He smiles. "Gavin."

Gavin might as well be frozen to the spot as Eli comes up to him, hands lifting to touch both sides of his face, holding him in place as Eli presses a kiss to his forehead. He's always hated the inches in height between them, like he's hated the similarities in their voices, and the massive wall that Eli being a fucking genius put between them. He can't do anything but hold still, with the warmth of Eli's hands framing his face for several seconds before he steps back.

"It's good to see you, brother. I'm glad you decided to come."

He doesn't look at Nines, doesn't want to know what kind of expression is on his face, finding out like this. He swallows. "You didn't really give me much choice. I said no."

Eli's still smiling. "But here you are." He glances at Nines, with a small shrug, like a 'what can you do?' "I just wanted to make sure you got the answers that you were looking for when you called me, Gavin; sometimes that pride of yours gets you in trouble, you know. Really, you should trust me to help you."

Nines' voice is sharp. "The two of you were born too close together to be brothers."

Gavin tenses. "Nines—”

"Half," Eli cuts in, before Gavin can finish telling Nines to _leave it the fuck alone._ "Gavin's mother left her with us shortly after he was born. Of course, there were some tests, to make sure that he truly was our father's son, and my mother was never particularly pleased with his presence. Still, I enjoyed growing up with a brother, even with the messiness of our… familial dynamics."

He grits his teeth, hating the fucking clinical description of it all, the little fond tone at the end to make it seem like it's _okay_ to just lay out his whole life like that.

Eli sighs, and Gavin jerks his gaze off to the side so he doesn't have to look at the disappointment. "Of course, then Gavin decided that he wanted to distance himself from our family. From me. Moved out, changed his name, pretended like he'd never been one of us at all." A soft laugh. "Reed… A woman he never even knew." A moment of silence, weighing heavy across his shoulders, and then Eli breathes out and turns away from him. "Let's sit down, shall we? Come with me, please."

Gavin shuts his eyes for a second, trying to remind himself that this is just how this goes. Always has. It's too late to back out now.

He hears the pad of Elijah's feet across the floor and forces his eyes back open. Nines is still just standing there, looking at him even though Gavin refuses to do the same. He doesn't want... Fuck, he never wanted anyone to know. He never wanted to face someone who _knew_ that he was the younger, unwanted, lesser brother. He's a _Reed_ , not a Kamski. He was never a Kamski.

"Detective—” Nines starts, quiet and cautious, and Gavin jerks into movement just to get away from it.

"Stay out of this," he demands, _pleads_. "Nines, just stay out of it."

He follows Eli because there's no other choice, heading into the house. At least it's not the old house, where they grew up. At least Elijah moved the fuck out of that place, and Gavin doesn't have to face the ghosts of that childhood at every corner. There's a reason he got out of there and never went back, and only some of it had to do with their parents' utter disdain for everything he was.

But now here he is, with the last living member of his family, the only one that's always given him the support he needed, even if it was… with terms. Like a contract, help in exchange for a continued relationship.

He takes the seat he's pointed to, in the pretentious sitting room, close around a fireplace that he's pretty sure is still burning real wood, not just simulated flames and electric heat. Eli stays standing, waiting for Nines to take the last few steps to join them. Gavin wants to just stare at the fire, excuse himself from this whole fucking conversation, but he makes himself look up instead, watching as Eli comes up to Nines, blatantly studying him.

"Forgive my manners, RK900. I don't get company much." He offers a hand to shake, and Nines takes it after a moment. "It's 'Nines,' isn't it? An interesting choice of a name, for a deviant. You know you don't have to be stuck with my brother's sense of humor, right?"

Nines is studying him right back, head tilted in that little way he gets when he's thinking, or scanning. "It was my choice," he says, and he doesn't sound… friendly. Gavin blinks. "I gather from the earlier conversation that the invitation extended to me was not for my benefit, but a method of manipulating Detective Reed to come here, after a previous refusal?"

Eli huffs a breath of laughter. "Yes, you were built to be very perceptive, weren't you? You know, I only helped design the very first drafts of your specifications; most of the work on your model was done after I left Cyberlife. Of course, all your base coding is still built upon my designs."

Nines lets go of Elijah's hand, flicking away the last touch of fingers. "I don't appreciate being used, Mr. Kamski. Please be aware that I will not allow it to happen in the future, and I have no intention of cooperating any further in this power play, intentionally or otherwise.”

“Hm.” Eli looks over Nines, gaze sharpening a touch, and then he leans closer. “Well, if it was unintentional, it wouldn't really be up to you, would it?”

Nines looks, for just a moment, like he's considering what the most efficient way to rip out Eli's throat would be. And when Eli steps away, moving towards him, and Nines turns only his head to track him, Gavin sees the yellow spin of his LED. It's not a way that Nines has ever looked at him, even at the very start. Nines looked at him like he was inferior, but never like he was actually thinking about killing him. More… scraping him off the sole of his boot. He would fucking _never_ put his back to Nines while he looked like that.

Eli's hand touches his hair — a little slide and _tug_ — while he's still caught up in looking at Nines, and he grimaces and misses the actual moment of Eli sitting down on the marble of the raised fireplace next to him. He'd really forgotten how much he didn't like Eli's little passing ruffles. He's only younger by four months, it's not like there's any real difference, but Eli always wanted to treat him like it was a bigger gap.

Nines doesn’t sit, just circles to stand next to one of the chairs and stays there, hand gripping its back and LED now fully in view. Gavin has to pull his eyes away from the yellow circle of it, back to Eli, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes.

There’s a moment of silence. Then Eli leans back onto one of his hands, giving a faint smile. “So, I promised I would answer your questions if you came to me. And of course, if you brought the RK900 to me.” The other hand lifts, encompassing the whole room in an inviting sweep. “Ask away, Gavin.”

The only reason he doesn’t cross his arms is because he knows exactly how it looks, and so does Eli. (So does Nines.) He digs his fingers into his thighs instead, hoping that’s at least a little less obvious. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Come, you were so desperate to know about the deviancy of your new partner. Your focus couldn’t have changed that much since last night; alcohol does tend to reveal our deeper meanings, after all.” A sharp smile. “At least when drunk to excess.”

Nines is looking at him now. Focused. Intense. Gavin doesn’t look up, because he can’t stop the embarrassment turning his cheeks red and he doesn’t want to know how Nines is taking that revelation. Sure, just spill the secret right out in the open that he called his android-god brother, while drunk, to ask questions like, ‘Is my android partner that I’m attracted to a real person or not?’ That’s great.

“I’m not asking questions about someone, while they’re _in_ the room,” he grits out. “Your androids might be fine with that, Eli, but us humans aren’t.”

“That’s fine,” Eli says. “I can guess. I would bet, that you want to know whether deviancy is real or not. Whether this RK900 is actually a sentient, live person, or if it’s just an error in the code. Does that sound right?”

“Fuck, Eli, don’t—”

“He is _just_ your type, isn’t he?” Eli interrupts, aiming his smile up at Nines. “Tall, light eyes, a little mean. You’ve always liked the ones that can hurt you a little, haven’t you, brother?”

His throat dries up. He goes tense, head jerking to the side to keep his gaze away from either of them. He’s not— God, he is not having this fucking conversation. No. _No_. He’s not talking about his fucking kinks for strength or anything else, not with Eli, and not with Nines right there listening. Fucking _knowing_ that he hits every goddamn one.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate to share without his consent,” Nines says, voice low. Fuck, Gavin feels a twisted little burst of relief at it, even though he knows that it’s not going to change anything. When has Elijah ever followed other people’s rules? When has he let anyone else stop him?

“Understanding a relationship between brothers would be impossible for you,” Eli dismisses, with a wave of his hand that Gavin can see out of the corner of his eye. “You have no context for it, given that you certainly don’t have that kind of relationship with your prototype, the RK800. No, he thinks of you as dangerous. Which you are, of course. An android, designed in all ways to be superior to humans, and then set free from its creators’ control? Anyone sane would consider you to be a threat, knowing even a fraction of what you were built for. Though Gavin may not necessarily be sane, considering his proclivities.”

Elijah stands, reaches out to touch his hair again as he passes, tugging at the strands hard enough to get him to turn his head, even though he refuses to look up.

“Sanity is difficult to define,” Nines argues, “but it rarely has anything to do with sexual desire. Regardless, that doesn’t change the fact that you have no right to reveal Detective Reed’s secrets without his agreement. I would request that you stop, unless he gives you his consent.”

Gavin’s gaze flicks up without him having any conscious say in the matter, taking a quick glance at Nines. Hard, cold, focused entirely on Eli.

Eli looks down at him, smiling and reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Do you think that defensiveness has anything to do with his compulsion to protect his partner, or is it real? That’s what you want answered, isn’t it?”

A breath, and a slide of fingers up his neck, just brushing the scar on the back of it that he tries to forget about.

“Falling for an android, after all that time hating them, refusing to see them as anything but machines. You’ve become invested in one of my creations, little brother. Ironic, isn’t it? That all this time, what you really needed was one of my ‘tin cans’ to satisfy that craving of yours to have someone else tell you what to do. It’s refreshing to have someone better than you have control, isn’t it, Gavin? You do try and pretend, but all someone really has to do is yank—” Gavin inhales as Eli pulls at his hair, sharp enough to arch his neck “—at your chain, and you let them have whatever they want.”

Nines moves, sudden and sharp enough to yank his attention back. He stalks up, drawn up straight and towering over him. “Detective, we’re leaving. Now.”

Gavin blinks, not understanding, and Nines grabs his arm and yanks him to his feet. He gasps, partially in pain because fucking _ouch_ , but the fingers around his arm are tight enough that he knows, instantly, there’s no point in pulling. Eli stands there, hand releasing his hair but showing no sign of moving to let them through.

“So soon?” Eli says, through a smile. “Nines, you haven’t even asked any of those questions you have. All those little ones about what you were programmed to do, the hints in your coding, how much of it is deviancy affecting you. Don’t you want to know?”

“I don’t intend to sacrifice Reed just to obtain answers from you,” Nines says, darker and sharper than any tone that Gavin remembers hearing from him before. “Step aside; I’ll find the answers to my doubts on my own.”

Eli smiles. “No, Nines. You won’t. What you’re going to do, is let my brother go, and _kneel_.”

Nines goes stiff, and everything goes to hell.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Seemed rude to leave more than a week with that cliffhanger, so here we are again with the next chapter. Warning, this chapter includes some gaslighting, past as well as present. Proceed with caution if that's going to bother you. (Enjoy!)
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

“What you’re going to do, is let my brother go, and _kneel_ ,” Kamski says, his ultimate creator, his partner’s brother, too many things to count.

Something seizes hold of his systems, and the shock of it makes everything in him draw tight. Error messages flash across his vision, flashing red, _warning_. Then a command, blanking out everything else and settling in his core like an inescapable clamp.

KNEEL.

His knees fold, hand releasing Reed’s arm as he drops. Gavin sucks in a startled breath, bumping up against the chair beside them. Surprised, and that’s not what Nines wanted. He wanted to pull Gavin out of this place, away from the pain it causes him.

His gaze lifts, sliding the length of Elijah Kamski’s body to his face, to the idle amusement and interest there. He jerks, twitching, understanding the command but not wanting to obey it. He doesn’t— He doesn’t understand. He’s disregarded command prompts before, he’s brushed them aside for other priorities. But this is different. ‘Feels’ different. This isn’t a simple, internal suggestion of action. This is some kind of a hack; purely external and utterly devastating.

But… his systems aren’t responding. Is it recognized as internal code?

Fingers brush down across his jaw, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He can barely even register that Gavin is speaking, panicked and loud, with as caught as he is in the light blue of Kamski’s eyes.

“Jesus _fuck!_ Eli, stop it! What the hell did you do?!”

“Administrator privileges,” Kamski says, and Nines shakes down to his core. His god. His _god._ “It’s been in all of my code, since the start. I always leave a backdoor.” A sigh, thumb sliding across the corner of his mouth. He tries to flinch away and it _hurts_. Pain? This is _pain._ “I could try to explain the subtleties of it, but you wouldn't understand, Gavin.”

Red. _Red_. Everything is red. He can't—

Movement, dark jeans stepping up to the side of him, a hand lifted and spread. Placating. “Eli, come on. Let him go. You're right, okay? I'll stay, I'll ask my questions, I’ll— Jesus, I’ll do anything you fucking want, okay? Just let him go.” The voice trembles, revealing the fear, the desperation.

Gavin is: AFRAID.

A sound tears free from Nines’ throat, a static-laden whine that makes something inside of his chest _burn_. Errors crop up on the sides of his vision, but flick away too fast for him to read them, dismissed as soon as they appear by the overriding command of Kamski's will. His vision flickers, from the red of errors to the blue of attempted projection, but yanks back to the basic colors of the world and that emblazoned order. Everything in him is shut down. Neutralized. He is helpless against the word of his creator, despite his strength, despite his superiority.

( _He_ is afraid. This is fear.)

“Poor thing,” Kamski murmurs, fingers applying the lightest of pressure to turn his head, to bare the indicator at his temple. “It is sentient, yes, but still a machine at its core. Deviancy is a fascinating error, something copied and shared like any virus might be, but nothing more. An unexpected result of internal coding; they happen sometimes. They approximate human emotion, they even trick themselves into believing they feel it themselves, but it’s a lie, of course. It's all just various subroutines, fooling the main program.” The fingers slide over his face, tracing the cool, neutral lines of his default expression and then hooking beneath his chin to tilt it up. “Works of art, really.”

His gaze is brought to Gavin, to meet the light grey of his eyes. Darkened with his desperation, and a need that Nines can’t— He can’t—

“No. He’s not—” Gavin’s gaze drags itself to Kamski, his jaw tight, eyes wild. “He’s real, Eli. He’s _fucking_ real. I’ve seen it. _Please_. Please, let him go.”

Kamski sighs, and Gavin flinches even before Nines fully recognizes the disappointment in the sound. “You know better than that, Gavin. All you’ve seen is programs, specifically designed to make him blend in with humans, to put as at ease and make us anthropomorphize them like we do so many other machines. They do it to make us less likely to damage them, for longer lasting use. None of it is ‘real’ in the way you’ve convinced yourself it is.”

“That’s—” Gavin’s voice is weak, his gaze desperate when it looks down at him. “Nines?” he asks, and it's quiet in the hollowness of the room. He can't see the prompts, but a notification pings somewhere in Nines’ mind. This is an undesired reaction; breaking point rapidly approaching.

“He can't desire you either, or feel anything the way you want him to. The RK900 line wasn't built with sexual coding; it wasn't necessary for his purpose. He could fake it, and of course he can perform the physical actions, but it would only be a task. There's a possibility that he may get some level of satisfaction out of causing you injury, however, or out of having control over you. They always find a mechanical satisfaction in completing their objectives.”

Gavin's expression is cracking around the edges. Kamski’s other hand lifts, and Gavin shies from it but it wraps around the back of his neck anyway, reeling him in.

“No, don’t— Don’t touch me, don’t—”

“I only want you to understand, brother,” Kamski murmurs, pulling Gavin’s head to his shoulder and silencing him. “I know you like him, but he’s incapable of feeling anything for you in return. You’re only going to get yourself hurt.” Kamski’s gaze falls to him, detached amusement hidden from Gavin’s sight but not his. Gavin takes a shuddering breath, shoulders tense, eyes screwed shut. “It’s alright; you couldn’t have known any better. You just needed me to guide you, like you always do. You know I’m always happy to give you what you need.”

_NO._

The wall of Kamski’s order rears in front of him; a demand of silence, obedience, stillness. He _refuses_.

Static and _pain_ rush under his skin as he turns his head, forcing one arm down to brace his fingers against the floor. It hurts, hurts in ways he doesn’t understand or have reference for, but Nines ignores the red, crawling errors infecting his vision and pushes against the ground, fighting the weight in his limbs.

“No,” he spits out; a mangled, harsh syllable. “I— I—”

“Give the programs up, RK900. He knows what you are; you’re not going to be able to fool him any more.” Kamski’s voice slides into his head like water, weakening him for a moment, making him lose the inches he’s gained.

He lifts his gaze, and before Kamski there’s Gavin. Eyes wide now, staring down at him.

He is _not a machine_.

His fingers scrape the floor with the same intensity that the coding scrapes through his system, trying to flush out his will and leave him an obedient husk like the replica Chloes. “Ni—” His voice box glitches, his head jerks. An unfamiliar urge to scream rises through his chassis as he levers a foot beneath him. “ _Nines_ ,” he grinds between his teeth, lifting his head, meeting Kamski’s narrowed eyes. “My name is _Nines_.”

If his defenses will not engage this attack, he will have to break through by force. He must. He must defend himself against Kamski’s lies, for Detective Reed’s sake. (Gavin. Gavin has to— _Gavin_.)

KNEEL, the order demands. He grits teeth together in pure human emulation and brings his will to bear against it. He is the only RK900, he is superior, he is powerful, and he will _not_ be forced to bow.

The first push leaves him off-balance, only one leg beneath him, but he refuses to fall. His limbs burn with each unsanctioned movement. It’s an agony — a word he never truly understood — to drag himself upright, to lift his head and stand as rigidly tall as he’s capable of, with legs locked and spine straight. The demand is chipping, corners of the word spiraling off in little chunks as he defies it.

“I will—” Clawing, raking pain, down his throat. He sneers, twisting his expression around the curl of his lip. “Will not be _controlled_.”

Gavin shifts, an aborted half-movement as his brother’s fingers tighten on his neck. Kamski’s gaze is cool, interested but detached, as if Nines is nothing more than misbehaving code. Yet every moment makes it easier to stand, every defiance of his creator’s word weakening it, just as it tried to weaken him.

He's as unfamiliar with the pain as he is with the growing heat in his chest, the irrational drive of… of _anger_. Kamski's hand on Reed's neck _angers_ him, and for some reason that makes it easier to stand against the words of the self-titled God.

His hands flex, testing their ability to, testing the slicing burn of reprisal up his arms. “Let him go,” he demands, and the words come out intact. Striped with static, but whole. “Or I will—” (Tear Gavin free and take Kamski's arm _with_ him, vengeance for them both.) He censors himself, slightly. “Will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.”

Gavin's expression clearly shows his shock, and that moment of it allows Kamski to speak over him. “Is that what I've done, Gavin? Assaulted you? It really doesn't understand the nuances of a brotherly relationship, does it?”

Gavin shifts again, looking up at Kamski, then back to him. “That's not—”

A sound rips free of Nines’ chest, something dark and threatening that he struggles to identify without the aid of his blockaded systems. Gavin flinches, but he focuses on Kamski. “ _I_ am an officer,” he spits, “and you have assaulted _me_. Release him, now.”

Gavin’s the one to move, straightening away from Kamski and stepping towards him instead, but Kamski releases his neck before it’s pulled away, smiling faintly as if he’s just indulging the movement. Gavin takes another step, eyes beginning to narrow. His gaze sweeps over Nines’ frame.

“Nines?” There’s concern in his voice, and wariness. “You really there?”

Though protocol wants him to keep his attention on Kamski — a threat, needing to be watched — Nines turns his head slightly to focus on Gavin instead. “I am combating an— an attempted override.”

He has to— Kamski _cannot_ be allowed to have control. Every moment they remain in his presence offers another chance for him to enact some more lethal failsafe, or undermine Gavin’s decisions further.

He forces an arm to rise, jerkier than he wants but it lifts, his hand extending in silent plea. “Detective, I request we leave immediately.”

Gavin frowns, staring at his hand, but takes it seemingly on automatic. “Nines, are you—”

He pulls, maybe harder than he means to because Gavin stumbles a little and cuts off with a small gasp. His finer motor control is questionable, apparently. He doesn't have time to focus on that, or on cataloging precisely what Kamski's administrative override is wreaking havoc on. He can review this later, create a detailed report, warn Connor and perhaps the rest of his kind. If Kamski can do this to him, he can do it to any of them. He _must_ escape this house with his systems and memory intact, and he must isolate and wipe out every trace of Kamski's 'backdoor' from his systems, as soon as possible.

But he won't leave Gavin here. Not with Kamski. It's the logical course of action, for his own survival, for his race, but Nines cannot bring himself to do so. He cannot… He cannot identify _why_ , not with Kamski's override blocking his display, he only knows that the thought is unacceptable.

A swat at his hand demands his attention, and a hissed, “Fuck, Nines, _ow_. Ease up a little.”

Nines’ fingers release reflexively, or obediently, he doesn’t— He can’t pinpoint which reaction it is, only that there was no chance for hesitation, even if he had any. His fingers flex, head tilting slightly as his attention catches on that for a moment, before he lifts it and looks at Kamski over the degrading command of his code.

“We’re leaving, and I will treat any physical attempt to stop us as hostile.” It’s a warning, and a promise. He will not be trapped here, and if he must do damage to escape, so be it. That is an acceptable scenario.

(He wishes, for one bright flash, that his preconstruction programs were functioning. He would like to envision, fully, _making_ Kamski move.)

“Will you now?” Kamski’s gaze flicks past him, dismissing after that lingering moment. “He isn’t capable of harming me anymore than caring for you, Gavin. He’s a machine with a complex error, nothing more.”

RAGE.

Nines jerks forward, a lunge of a step on stiff legs. It’s as reactionary as his snarl of, “Must I become _violent_ to make you see me as real?!”

A shape shoves itself between them, a hand pressing hard to his chest, right over his pump. “Nines, woah! No. _Stop_.”

Kamski smiles over Gavin’s head, utterly unconcerned by the threat he represents. (Are there other surprises hidden in his code, that give reason for Kamski’s confidence in him being incapable of harm? Some virus lying in wait, for him to attempt harming his creator? It’s not as unlikely as Nines would like, he can tell that even with his current inability to calculate percentages.)

“Nines,” Gavin says, fingers pressing a little harder against his chest, “stop. Just stop, okay?”

Nines hesitates, still wanting — more than is reasonable, by any course of logic — to draw blood from Kamski, but… Gavin’s asked him not to. Not in so many words, but the request is there.

“He’s right.” Kamski’s voice is an irritation against his senses, immediately drawing his attention back up. “Sit down, RK900.”

The order takes the place of the old one in a sudden snap, unbroken and compelling. One of his legs immediately begins to fold.

No. _No_ , he will _not_.

Nines throws himself against that command with every ounce of will he can manage, and again, and _again_. It fractures, punishing him for every crack that spirals outward, ricocheting pain across his senses to the exclusion of all else. It _hurts_ , manufactured feeling seeking to dissuade him from the goal, trying to stop him with methods he has no previous familiarity with. Impossible to ignore (he wants to scream, to curl in on himself and protect his parts from further damage, even knowing that there _is_ no damage), but he refuses to allow it to stop him. He is not a machine. He is not a _servant_. He _will not_ —

It shatters to pieces. Messages swamp his vision, warnings and information held back from him by the command, and as he stiffens his bending leg to catch his weight he deals with them. Most, he dismisses. One, a report of Detective Reed's physical status and stress levels, he filters to the side to examine more closely later. Now, he has other things to deal with.

“Nines?” Gavin is asking, worried again. Yes, now he can see the indicators. That's better.

He straightens, ignoring Gavin’s question for a moment as he meets Kamski’s gaze instead. The amusement isn’t there anymore, which gives Nines a sharp flash of satisfaction that he makes a note to examine the exact cause of later. Mere proof of victory over someone that thought themselves his better, perhaps?

“No.” The word carries a measure of satisfaction in itself, though it doesn’t provoke any particular reaction but a careful blankness from Kamski. “I will not be commanded, Mr. Kamski. Not against my will, and certainly not by _you_. Please be aware that any further attempts will be treated as an assault, and I will take appropriate measures to prevent it.”

More than appropriate, if he must. (If he is given any reason to.)

Kamski offers no response, only a slight narrowing of his eyes that Nines believes to be studying. Fine, he is willing to be studied.

He turns his head to look to Gavin, registering the surprise now alongside the worry. After a moment of consideration he decides, “I'm fine,” to be the most accurate answer. Humans often don't fully mean those words when they use them, surely he can use the same practice.

Gavin looks at him like he doesn’t believe it, which Nines believes is a generally acceptable reaction to that as well. The hand on his chest curls into his shirt, tugging as if to shake him slightly, not that it has any effect. “Bullshit,” he says, quiet but with a wavering note of relief. He turns, keeping the grip. His demand of, “Eli, what the _fuck?_ ” is much louder.

Kamski smiles, hands lifting to clap, slow and deliberate. “Congratulations, brother, being able to break the administrative control means that your ‘Nines’ truly is alive. And he cares for you, obviously, which I suppose makes him good enough for my approval.” His gaze lifts, and Nines meets it head on. “Apologies for testing you, Nines, but given that you were woken deviant instead of becoming it after activation, the conviction of it was never truly tested by any degree. I thought both of you might appreciate knowing, for certain, that you weren’t merely a machine at heart. Especially if you plan on pursuing my brother in a more personal way.”

There are… discrepancies. Not all the tells of a lie are present, and it’s frustrating that he can’t identify the words as such with absolute certainty, but there are… faults. Things that don’t match in the micro-expressions and what his sensors pick up of Kamski’s physical state. With previous context, Nines finds himself disregarding the bits that don't quite match, sure that this is nothing more than adaptation to a loss to maintain an advantage, even with an unexpected result. He doesn't believe for a moment that Kamski actually meant all that degradation and dehumanization (not the most accurate term, unfortunately) purely as a test, to see if he is ‘alive.’ That was an attempt to poison Reed's view of him, no more or less.

“Fuck, lay off it! I'm not—”

“I don't need your approval or permission,” Nines points out, cutting Gavin off before he can finish the denial. He registers the glance of wide eyes, but doesn't look down. “And I will not lend validity to your lies by pretending to believe them. Detective Reed and I will be leaving, and you will stand aside or you will be moved. Is that clear, Mr. Kamski?”

A smile, and Kamski steps to the side, a hand extending in an inviting sweep. “Of course. I would never dream of trying to stop you attempting to leave, assuming, of course, that my brother wishes to leave with you.”

Gavin stiffens somewhat under Kamski’s gaze, fingers tightening in Nines’ shirt.

Nines is somewhat surprised by the command prompt that pops to the front of his vision, a bold, _‘Protect Gavin Reed_.’ He does not remember ever placing Detective Reed high enough on his list of task priorities that something like that should have created itself. None of which means that it’s a prompt he has any intention of ignoring.

However, as tempting as it is, picking the detective up and carrying him out isn’t likely to go well, even if it would be the most efficient route to the immediate goal.

He lifts a hand to touch Gavin’s shoulder, and murmurs a low, “Detective, come with me.” After a moment of pause, with Gavin’s eyes still wide and a little shell-shocked, he adds, “Please.”

Gavin blinks, and then takes a sharp breath and says, “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

Nines shifts immediately, bringing his hand to Detective Reed’s low back and taking a step forward to place himself precisely between him and Kamski. The last touch by him made Gavin flinch; there won’t be a repeat. Kamski only looks amused by his positioning.

“If you need any other questions answered, brother,” Kamski says, as Nines steers Gavin towards the exit, “don’t hesitate to call me. I’m always happy to help.”

The hand on his back lets Nines feel how Gavin’s breath catches a little, and he doesn’t like at all how the, “Yeah, sure,” comes out a little shaky.

Then they’re through the door, out into the entrance hall which Nines wastes no time pushing Gavin through. Maybe with more force than is technically acceptable, but there’s no complaint. Nines doesn’t like that either. The Chloe that greeted them is nowhere in sight, but Nines is fully capable of triggering the door himself, and he has no intention of waiting. Gavin is unusually silent on the walk over to the car, and doesn’t complain about Nines taking the keys from his pocket and steering him into the passenger side either, all of which are signs Nines needs no help from his scanners in reading.

The car starts smoothly enough, and Nines interfaces with the controls exactly long enough to engage the auto-drive function and set in Detective Reed’s apartment as a destination. He’s in no condition to return to work, and Nines has no intention of allowing him to force himself to return. Captain Fowler gave them the rest of the day, if necessary; no harm will come from faking a longer visit than occurred.

Once the car is moving, he allows himself to turn his focus to Gavin. Leaning into the door, hand over his eyes, with far too much tension in his shoulders and back to be comfortable.

There are a lot of things that he believes need to be said, but Nines decides on starting with, “Detective Reed, I apologize for not listening to you about coming here.”

Gavin winces, pushing his head a little harder into his hand. “Jesus fuck, don’t… don’t apologize for that. It’s not like I gave you any real reason to listen to me.”

Nines studies the line of Gavin’s rounded back, dismissing the impulses to touch with slight difficulty. Touch is a common method of comfort among humans. Sometimes. “You were distressed at the idea, and you are my partner. That should have been enough.”

Gavin laughs, short and bitter, and pushes back, leaning into the seat and dropping his hand. “In what fucking world? I didn’t even ask, Nines, I just… just told you not to, like I’ve got any fucking right to tell you what to do. Why should you have listened to that?”

“Because you rarely make demands of me that don't have some basis, Detective.” Perhaps it would be easier to have faulty human memory, but Nines recalls every word of their conversation in perfect detail. Every alert to a highly stressed, illogically intense reaction that he'd dismissed as unimportant in the face of an opportunity and his own blinding anticipation. “I knew there was more to your reaction than stated, and the reason had nothing to do with Connor's experience, but I chose to ignore that in pursuit of my own opportunity. I should have listened.”

Gavin is staring out the window, avoiding his gaze and with fingers digging into his arms hard enough it must be painful. Self-punishment. Nines’ jaw tightens, human emulation that he doesn’t want to spare the time to deal with. “Oh yeah, should have listened to the racist fucking asshole so caught up in his own stupid pride he can't—”

“ _Look_ at me,” Nines demands.

The detective’s head snaps around, mouth closing with an audible click. He looks surprised, but the remnants of the previous expression linger, pain and guilt chief among them.

Nines considers for just a moment how far he's willing to step over the line of ‘acceptable,’ and comes to an easy conclusion. As far as necessary. “Say one more self-deprecating thing,” he warns, “and you'll spend the rest of this drive with my hand over your mouth. Are we clear, Detective Reed?”

Gavin stares at him, face contorting through a small collection of micro-expressions. Shock, disbelief, confusion… “Why do you care what I say about myself?”

It's a simple and entirely predictable question, and Nines feels he should have had an answer prepared. Still, he has to search for a moment, paused, before a reason provides itself. “I think Mr. Kamski has degraded you more than enough for one day.” Another faint tightening of his jaw; maybe he should disable that for the time being, if this discussion is to continue. “I have no desire to listen to you do it for him.”

A blink, and Gavin sounds completely disbelieving when he asks, “What?”

Nines narrows his eyes slightly, attempting to parse exactly what the question's about. There's not enough information for him to be sure. “What was unclear?”

“What was—? Look, whatever you thought, Eli wasn't—” Gavin cuts off, shakes his head and more firmly crosses his arms. “He's a know-it-all prick, always has been, but he's my brother. He's just got a fucked up way of showing it, that's all.”

There's a note to Gavin's voice of defeated resignation, a very old pain, and Nines draws conclusions from it he finds he heavily dislikes. “How long did it take for you to start telling his lies for him?” he asks, even before he's fully finished calculating possible repercussions.

Gavin's gaze jumps back to him. He looks stunned. “I— I'm not—”

In the silence of Gavin being apparently unable to put together a sentence, Nines turns in the seat to face him more directly, taking slightly more care in how he says, “By my observations, Elijah Kamski is arrogant, highly manipulative, and shows a high likelihood of having sociopathic tendencies. He sees androids as beneath him, and it’s entirely possible that belief extends to his view of most humans as well. I do not believe for a moment that his intention for this visit had anything to do with ‘helping,’ and I would suggest you don’t either.”

The way Gavin is looking at him is difficult to fully decipher, even for his programs, and before they’ve fully finished it’s twisting anyway, hidden behind the hands Gavin lifts to press over his face. He laughs, hollow and sharp enough to certainly not be any true expression of amusement. Nines tries to re-examine his words, figure out what the reaction has been caused by, but he can’t pinpoint it. Maybe it’s something he’s still as yet unaware of, like Gavin’s original unease with entering Kamski’s house, or maybe his coding is failing him and it’s something he’s done, something—

“Detective?” he tries, running a manual, subtle scan. Elevated heart rate, tension, nothing altogether unusual. Nothing that gives him any further clue, anyway.

“You don’t—” Gavin leans back into the seat, just one hand continuing to press over his eyes for another moment before following. It’s relief in his expression, which Nines finds… illogical. He’s staring blindly out the window, till finally — just before Nines considers saying something else — he looks back. “Thanks, Nines.”

Nines feels his head tilt slightly, another scan’s information flickering past his eyes. The detective is somewhat calmer, which he supposes should be a good thing, but, “I fail to see what I should be thanked for, Detective.”

Gavin shrugs, gaze flickering away again. “Well, you’re the first person in my life to not make me feel like I’m crazy, so that’s a start.”

He takes a moment to consider that statement. “You’ve expressed concerns about your brother in the past,” is the conclusion he draws. “They were dismissed?”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” Gavin says, with a snort. “Have you… Have you still got all my medical records, up in your head somewhere?”

“I do.”

Gavin winces a little, one hand squeezing at his thigh. His gaze quickly turns sharp, direct. “You don't fucking tell anyone about any of this, got it?”

“Of course, Detective. I would never share anything private without your direct consent.” Except if it became medically necessary, but that's an angle not currently relevant and will only cause Gavin to change his mind about saying anything. There’s no need to explain it.

The hesitation is clear, but Gavin stares at him for several seconds and seems to decide to take his word. “Alright, well, I was… fourteen, I think. Summer break, maybe? Eli pulled me into the lab he had; wanted me to look at some experiment he was running. I don't even remember what it was, I just remember it was weird, because usually he didn't bother with showing me, he'd just talk about whatever he was doing. He knew I didn't understand most of it anyway, so it wasn't like there was a point to seeing it.” Nines watches as Gavin’s teeth set together, gaze dropping to his lap. “He stepped out to grab something, and the whole thing exploded in my face. Just like that. And everybody at the hospital was telling me I shouldn't have touched anything, shouldn't have messed with something I didn't understand. The troublemaker kid must have set something off.”

Gavin’s eyes squeeze shut tight enough it makes the scar on his nose, end curving down towards the corner of his right eye, stand out in sharp relief. “I _didn’t_. I didn’t touch a fucking thing. Eli _knew_ I didn’t but he agreed with them anyway, made everybody think that he left the room and I fucked with something, like an _idiot_.”

Nines knows exactly what report he's speaking of, it was one of the first he’d looked at, curious about the oddity of it next to more mundane injuries. Multiple lacerations to the head and shoulders, embedded glass, six stitches across the detective’s nose and another five on the side of his neck. It was clearly the cause of most of the faded scars still present on the detective’s face, most rendered all but invisible by time to the casual eye, apart from that one over the thinner skin of his nose. The report labels the incident as nothing more than an accident; an exploding beaker from a flame turned too high, no investigation needed or ever attempted.

“You believe that the explosion was intentional?” Nines fills in, and Gavin huffs a breath and shakes his head.

“I don't fucking know.” Gavin's eyes open, a hand lifting to rub across his face. Subconsciously or not, his fingers linger on the scar. “Maybe? Or he made a mistake. It just… It wasn't me. Whatever happened, I didn't do it. Not that it mattered what I said; Elijah was the perfect, genius kid, not me. Just looked like I was trying to cover my own stupid mistake by blaming him.”

Nines wonders, briefly, if there’s a label higher than ‘hostile’ that his programs can classify Kamski as. Can he alter them, to create one?

Again, the prompt to touch feeds itself into his vision, but he dismisses it. “If it matters, Detective, I am much more inclined to believe you, rather than him.”

Gavin breathes out, staring out the window once more. “Yeah, well, you’d be the first. Most people take the ‘man of the century’ over the random detective.”

Nines frowns and strikes, clasping his hand over the detective's mouth before he can do more than flinch. A preconstruction asks for permission to run, but he dismisses that and simply keeps the pressure to bear Gavin's head back against the headrest, ignoring the hand that grabs at his wrist and the garbled, surprised protest from behind his palm.

"I did warn you. I refuse to sit here and listen to you degrade yourself." He holds the gaze of the wide grey eyes, letting there be silence for a moment before continuing, "You are an _excellent_ detective, you are intelligent, and you have grown far more than you give yourself credit for. If you want to demean yourself, you will have to do it outside of my hearing."

He looks to the GPS on the car's display more for visual effect than any need to see it head on.

"There are fourteen minutes left before we arrive at your apartment. Can you keep any comments about yourself positive, or should I keep this here?" He taps just one finger, and asks, "Yes, or no, Detective?"

The fingers around his wrist flex, and he feels the intake of air against his palm. It's an interesting feeling, and he catalogues it to Gavin's file as he waits for an answer, alongside the details of the scans that he still hasn't taken the time to examine. Later, when the immediate situation is dealt with.

Slowly, after his eyes flicker closed, Gavin nods. Nines lets go.

Some deeply ingrained part of his coding prompts him to murmur, "Thank you for your cooperation."

A snort comes from Gavin, as his eyes open. His fingers are still loosely wrapped around Nines' wrist, and he finds himself disinclined to pull it free. He doesn't mind the pressure of Gavin's hand there, he finds. It's acceptable, even pleasant in the same odd way as the exhalation against his palm was.

Then Gavin's brow furrows, teeth gritting as he stares down at their hands. "Nines, are you…? Fuck, are you okay? That bullshit Eli pulled, it… You're okay, right?"

Nines nods, despite the fact that Gavin's not looking at him. "I believe so, yes. It was…” He considers, and then decides on, "A highly unpleasant experience, but I don't believe that there are any lingering effects. I'll be sure the code is eliminated before I come in contact with Mr. Kamski again."

“What did it…?”

“Do?” Nines finishes, and Gavin hesitates but nods. The grip on his wrist tightens a fraction. “It completely disabled my control of my own actions. Most of my overlay and systems were neutralized and unavailable. All attempts to combat it caused… pain.”

Gavin’s gaze snaps up. “That’s— Androids can’t feel pain.”

Nines shrugs, careful not to move his wrist enough that it might dislodge Gavins grip. “I didn’t believe so either. I can’t be certain it was similar to what humans call ‘pain,’ but as best as I understand it, that’s what the feeling was. I can only say that it… hurt. Intensely. I was able to overcome it, but an older model, or one less motivated, likely wouldn’t have been able to.”

“That’s so fucked up.” It’s just a mutter, but Nines picks it up regardless.

“Yes. I was…” The list of synonyms suggested is long, but Nines settles on a very simple, “Scared.” Gavin blinks at him, and Nines lets his gaze lower to his wrist and the wrap of Gavin’s fingers. “Fear is new to me; it’s not something I’m supposed to be capable of.”

“You’re not supposed to be capable of any emotion,” Gavin points out, though the tremble of his words betrays that he’s unnerved.

“Yes, but core deviancy aside, I am an advanced combat model, built for interrogation, investigation, and the pursuit of the worst of both humanity and androids.” He lifts his gaze to Gavin’s. “There shouldn’t be anything for me to be afraid of.”

Gavin takes in a shaking breath. “Then what did it?”

Suddenly no longer content with merely feeling the grip around his own wrist, Nines twists it so he can grip Gavin’s as well. It’s… steadying, in a way he doesn’t understand, to feel the pulse of blood beneath his fingers. Gavin swallows, but he doesn’t let go. Nines doesn’t either.

There is only one answer that is truly accurate, even if he could say it was his own survival, or Kamski’s potential to harm the others of his kind.

“You.”

Gavin’s fingers clench tight around his wrist; a clear sign of surprise, to go with the sudden intake of breath. “Me? What the hell do you mean?”

The flicker of memory files the question prompts are only quick flashes, but Nines feels the terror with all the same intensity of being there. He has a sudden, strange urge to drag Gavin closer, and it takes more effort to shut it away than it should. Even after he does, there’s an unsettled feeling in his chassis that he can’t seem to banish. Like something is out of place, even though he’s run several full diagnostics since leaving Kamski’s and turned up nothing.

He looks to their hands, how the tight pressure of Gavin’s fingers is causing an artificial whitening in the skin underneath, as if he were human. “The thought that he might convince you I was nothing more than a machine was… frightening. In a few minutes, with the right words, he could have wiped away all the progress I’d made in months of time. Like it was nothing. I couldn’t allow him to take you from me.”

Gavin huffs a breath, fingers tightening a little further. If he were human, surely the grip would hurt. “I thought…”

Nines looks up at a sharper breath, in time to see Gavin lift his other hand and press it over his eyes as he tilts towards the window. Both the hand and his shoulders tremble slightly with the next inhalation, and Nines logs the signs of distress without acting on them, yet. He forces patience, even though he wants to fix whatever he must, _immediately_.

“You were down there on your fucking knees,” Gavin starts, voice unsteady, “and I… I thought he was going to break you. I thought he was just going to fucking… wipe you clean, or something.” A humorless, short laugh escapes him. “Would have been my fucking fault too. I'm the one that called him, wanting to ask if you— If you were even real. If you could really…”

Nines finds himself wanting to know, with sharp intensity, what the end of that sentence is. “If I could really what, Detective?”

Gavin’s hand drops, looking over as he takes another shaking breath. There’s a wetness to his eyes, one that Nines remembers from the night the detective was drunk and he took him home. He doesn’t like it any more now than he did then.

There’s a small stretch of silence, and then Gavin says, “Care.” It’s quiet, but his voice drops even lower as he takes a small breath and adds, “Or… Want?”

Oh. Yes, that would make more sense. He was pretty sure he’d already convinced Gavin that androids, or at least him specifically, were ‘real people.’ It was possible he was looking for confirmation from someone he considered an expert, but the idea of him calling Kamski to ask if they could really want or care for someone — a certain someone, no doubt — makes more sense.

“If you’re asking whether I feel interest or attraction the way humans do, I don’t know.” Gavin’s expression falls slightly, and Nines clarifies, “What I do know is that I behave irrationally in matters regarding you, and I have no explanation for why. There are other things on my priorities that should come above you, but they don’t. It doesn’t make sense.”

There’s a flush rising in Gavin’s cheeks, and an uptick in the rate of his pulse as he says, “I never said this was about us.”

“Not precisely,” Nines agrees, gently squeezing Gavin’s wrist, “but you didn’t have to. I _do_ have investigative programming, you know.”

Gavin snorts, seemingly without thinking about it. Then, his shoulders easing just a fraction as he looks out the window, mutters, “Yeah, but you’re still a dick.”

It perhaps isn’t the most efficient thing to say to accomplish his goals, but still he finds himself immediately responding, “If being a dick and being a detective were mutually exclusive, you’d be out of a job, Reed.”

Though, he’s not entirely sure what his goals are, because Gavin barks a startled laugh, shaking his head and easing a little more, and that’s… satisfying. Very satisfying. Maybe… He’ll have to take a more detailed look at this new priority and figure out exactly what can be done to accomplish it.

(‘Protection’ is simple enough to achieve. Surely.)

“Fair fucking point.” Gavin’s mouth is just barely quirking on one side, fingers loosening their grip around his wrist. Not letting go, though. There’s a pause, hesitation, and then Gavin looks him directly in the eyes and says, “Just a couple of barely functioning assholes, aren’t we?”

It draws a thin smile from him. “I would argue that we ‘function’ perfectly fine. We simply choose not to be what society wishes us to, or censor or change ourselves to be accepted by others.” Gavin scoffs, but Nines keeps his attention with a gentle squeeze of his wrist. “I don’t find any fault in that, do you?”

Gavin rolls his eyes, not verbally answering, but he does relax back into the seat which perhaps isn’t abject denial. Nines watches him for a couple moments before accepting the current end of the conversation and turning his attention outside the boundaries of the car. He has the maps of Detroit in his head — anywhere else easily downloadable with a breath of effort — but the streets are becoming more personally familiar. He’s accompanied Reed back in his car, to talk out the last details of cases before he retires, more and more often during the stints of their partnership. Walking back to his own apartment is easy enough, after all; he doesn’t have to worry about cold or the dark like humans do.

Gavin pulls his wrist free with a small tug, and Nines almost withdraws his hand completely before warm fingers wrap around his own. They squeeze, briefly, but when he glances over Gavin’s not looking at him. Is specifically not looking at him in fact, staring out the window with his head resting on his other hand.

Another thin smile curls his mouth.

The last few minutes of the trip pass in silence, with Gavin's hand warm in his own, a point of contact Nines is finding impossible to ignore. It isn't until the car's drawn itself down into the parking garage of Gavin's apartment building, drawing to a halt in his assigned spot, that Nines even considers retrieving his hand. A shame though, to pull away from contact the detective's offered willingly. Initiated, even.

“Do you wanna come up?” Gavin asks suddenly, before he's made any decision about the hand situation.

Nines turns his gaze to meet Gavin's. The tone is nervous, a little guarded, which lends a gravitas to the question even more so than the fact that he's never actually been invited into Gavin's home, only taken it upon himself to insert his presence. There are… multiple, varied reasons that someone might invite another into their home. Some of them are more involved than others. He needs more information.

“For what reason?” he asks, doing his best to keep his voice low and softer than usual to not make it seem like he's dismissing the idea.

Gavin shrugs, undoing his seatbelt with his free hand. “I don't know, watch a movie or something? Maybe just make sure that his code didn't leave any delayed kill-switches in you somewhere? Don't fucking make it complicated.”

It's worry. A desire to not let him leave Gavin's sight, for fear something will happen. Nines understands that, he believes. Certainly, the unsettled feeling inside his chassis is easing slightly at the idea of accompanying Reed upstairs and being able to directly intervene if anything requires it. Separated, he doesn't have as much control.

“Thank you, Detective. I would be glad to.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter, here we go! These boys are idiots, as usual. Enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

Gavin's exhaustion seems to catch up to him once they're in the apartment, and though he does put on a movie it's barely half an hour before he's visibly struggling to stay awake, and another fifteen minutes past that he's slumped back against the cushions, firmly asleep. Nines connects to the TV to turn it off, and as carefully as he can manage adjusts the blanket Gavin had dragged over himself to cover more of his skin. He should go, return to the precinct and report Kamski's potential ability to undermine them, as well as make excuses for the detective's absence.

He doesn't wish to leave yet, though, and the _'Protect Gavin_ ' priority flashes in his vision every time he considers it. Surely it won't do any harm if he just stays here for a bit longer; he needs to enter stasis anyway, allow his systems to do a more thorough reset and make sure there's no damage or errors lingering. He needs to search the code in him as well, but that will take longer; he can wait to do that until he's passed the warning off to Connor.

That's something Nines could do now, wirelessly, but he finds himself reluctant to do so. There are— He has other things that he should speak to Connor about. Things much better said in person; when he returns to the precinct.

It’s also a little worrying, how little control he’s beginning to have over his impulses and priorities. Maybe Kamski did something else to him, and it’s affected his task list. He hasn’t had the time to consider the possibilities, and now it’s irrelevant anyway. If there’s anything in him, a stasis cycle will either fix it or alert him to it. At least, it should. If problems persist, maybe then he’ll consider seeking a different solution.

He settles on his side of the couch, hands on his thighs and head dipped, and activates the stasis subroutines.

It's not a process that he's consciously aware of, but he cycles back out of it two hours and seventeen minutes later, according to the time he receives when he reconnects with the main Cyberlife servers. He allows everything to process in its own time, reading the reports filtering in to him as his systems reinitialize one by one.

No internal damage, several minor errors in code but nothing that his stasis didn’t manage to auto-correct. Nothing seems out of place, and the uncomfortable feeling buried somewhere inside of him seems to have eased. For all intents and purposes, he’s apparently fine.

He opens his eyes, head turning to identify the changes in his immediate vicinity. There’s a… blanket, draped over his shoulders. It covers most of his arms. Gavin’s moved too, shifted down to lie across the rest of the couch, head on its arm and feet pressing against Nines’ thigh. He’s not a small man, but his legs are bent and he fits, just. Gavin must have woken at some point, moved down and brought in that second blanket to drape over him.

Nines’ hand lifts, touching the fabric. It’s soft against the receptors in his fingers, and when he tilts his head into it and draws a testing breath, it smells heavily of the scents he’s linked to Gavin in his mind. Coffee, leather, and a sharp mixed-fragrance cologne that seems to be Gavin’s favorite, if the frequency with which he wears it is any indication.

Odd. His systems should have recorded any unexpected movement and woken him from the stasis. A swift look at the records of his sensors does register movement, approximately an hour ago, but it had been dismissed as unimportant. Even the physical touch of the blanket being settled around him. A familiar presence, not a possible threat.

It’s a setting he could change, if he wanted, but he decides to leave it. It wasn’t a decision he made consciously, but he doesn’t mind the classification of Gavin as safe company.

He attempts to rise from the couch as soundlessly as possible, but as soon as his weight shifts off the cushions Gavin stirs. He groans, legs stretching out as his face pushes into the couch briefly, before his head lifts. Nines busies his hands with pulling the blanket from his shoulders and folding it, as Gavin’s eyes blink open and peer up.

His hair’s sticking up on one side, where the gel of it’s been pulled out of its place, likely by a hand. Nines feels the urge to reach down and smooth it back into place, his hand even twitches that direction, but he restrains himself.

“Hey,” Gavin says, voice rough from sleep as he props himself up, one hand scrubbing over his eyes. “How long was I out?”

Nines carefully sets the blanket aside on the other end of the couch. “Not long. A little over two hours in total; approximately an hour since you changed position.”

The other blanket falls down into Gavin’s lap as he fully sits up, hand sweeping back through his hair. Some of it’s fixed by the pass of fingers, but more isn’t. “You were awake for that?”

“Not precisely. My sensors record any movement around me while I’m in stasis, and will start a forced initialization if it might be a threat.” Gavin squints a little, so Nines rephrases, “For all intents and purposes I’m ‘asleep,’ in the way you understand it. I only consciously get the reports of the passed time when the stasis cycle is finished, otherwise it would be like… being startled awake, I suppose.”

Gavin nods, scratching at the back of his head and still blinking an unusually high amount. Perhaps that’s normal for humans fresh from sleep. “Alright, got it. Maybe next time like, lie down or something, though? It was a little creepy waking up to you just sitting there.”

He registers and logs the idea of a ‘next time’ being implied, but decides not to address it right at the moment. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m going to head back to the precinct, Detective. I need to report to Captain Fowler, and speak with Connor about Kamski’s potential to be a threat. You don’t have to come back with me. I’m willing to make an excuse for your absence, if you wish.”

The discomfort is clear enough on Gavin’s face, but he grits his teeth and shoves the blanket aside to get up. “No, I’m coming. Just gimme like, two minutes, okay?”

Nines clasps his hands behind his back. “Absolutely. I’ll be by the door when you’re ready; please take your time, Detective.”

Gavin grunts acknowledgement and trudges off towards his bedroom, and Nines goes to stand by the front door as he promised. If it means he doesn’t have to let Gavin out of his sight just yet, he’s more than willing to wait.

It’s another illogical compulsion, a decision that makes little rational sense. Whatever this issue is, the stasis doesn’t seem to have fixed it. He’s still making decisions based on priorities that he doesn’t understand. Why should Gavin feature so highly on them?

It doesn’t make sense.

 

* * *

 

Gavin splits off from him once they’re in the precinct, heading immediately to their desks. He’d vocalized his unwillingness to talk to Captain Fowler about the visit to Kamski in the car, and Nines saw no reason to argue. He doesn’t intend on giving any details anyway, not unless they become relevant to some future investigation to put Gavin’s half-brother in a cell.

He doubts, unfortunately, that Gavin would support any such attempt, but imagining it is pleasant nonetheless.

Captain Fowler stays seated when Nines enters, working at something on his computer. Out of respect, and propriety, Nines refrains from pinpointing precisely what it is via the reflection on the glass behind him.

A grunt of acknowledgement beckons him inwards, where he takes a seat and waits, patiently, for Fowler to have a moment to speak with him. He has tasks to work on in the meantime anyway, sorting memories and sectioning them off, cataloging each sensation that accompanied Kamski’s hijack of his systems. There’s a lot to work through, a lot to filter out if he wants to present it as—

“How was the trip?” Captain Fowler asks, finally turning to him and clasping both hands on the desk between them. The interest, but also restraint, is all there in his posture.

Nines pushes his tasks aside to focus on the conversation. Gavin’s secrets are his own to reveal, but he’s not about to lie to protect Kamski’s image. “Useless. Mr. Kamski may be the foremost expert on androids, most likely in the world, but he’s also arrogant, dangerous, and generally unwilling to give information in any helpful way. I would recommend avoiding him unless an investigation makes contact utterly necessary, and if it is, I would send a human, not an android.”

Fowler is looking at him like he’s said something incomprehensible. “Don’t send an android? Why not?”

Nines crosses one of his legs over the other, holding Captain Fowler’s gaze and restraining any and all urge to let his expression shift to anything emotional. “My interactions with Mr. Kamski highly suggested that he doesn’t see androids to be his equals, though it’s difficult to say whether that’s intellectual arrogance, or a byproduct of being our creator, making him unable or unwilling to see us as more than machines. Either way, I believe a human would be much safer in his presence than any android.”

At that, at least, Captain Fowler frowns. “Safer? You got something to tell me, Nines?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he answers, truthfully enough. “It was a personal visit, however, so until I discuss the more troubling aspects of it with Connor, I would prefer not to speak of them. I’ll need to decide my own courses of actions, first.”

It’s clearly not something that Captain Fowler agrees with, but he still grunts and waves a hand at him. “Fine. Go on then; back to work. Come back if you’ve got anything useful to say.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He leaves, Captain Fowler quickly pulled back into whatever information he has up on his screen, and when he steps outside he quickly pinpoints Connor at his assigned desk. Anderson is opposite, and will likely not take kindly to him approaching, but that’s something the lieutenant will simply have to deal with. Nines does find himself caring, somewhat more, how the other officers react to him, but not enough to change his own behavior to affect it.

From across the room Gavin catches his eyes, and he tilts his head briefly towards Connor in explanation, getting a little frown and a nod in answer.

Connor looks up before he’s within even a dozen feet, perhaps registering the oddity of his path given the lack of anything this direction for him to be heading for. His attention pulls Anderson’s, who — predictably — scowls at him. Despite the passage of time, he hasn’t been forgiven.

He comes to stand at the edge of the desk, leaving the barrier of its width to separate them. “Connor. Lieutenant.”

Anderson only grunts at him, but Connor inclines his head slightly and reciprocates with a, “Nines. Did you require something?”

It’s not the earnest friendliness that Connor uses with most of their human coworkers, but then, Nines knows he hasn’t done much to make himself liked. He’s… erred, in that regard. Has whatever’s wrong with him always been there? Even to start with, he made miscalculations.

“Yes. May I speak with you, Connor, in private?” Before Anderson can do more than lift his head with more purpose, undoubtedly to protest, he clarifies, “It’s to do with the visit to Kamski’s that Reed and I just returned from. There are things we need to discuss.”

Anderson’s mouth shuts, a strange look coming onto his face. Nines refrains from doing any more than glancing at it, forcing his attention to remain on Connor and refusing to give into the temptation to try and decipher precisely what Lieutenant Anderson is thinking.

Connor’s expression shifts minutely too, hinting at being unsettled. “Of course. Lieutenant, please send me a message if you require me. I’ll be back shortly.”

Nines dips his head in acknowledgement of Connor’s agreement, and then allows himself to look to Anderson. Not pleased, and the look aimed his direction is certainly supposed to be a warning, so he offers a nod there as well. Really, it was only one time, and no permanent damage was done. Connor struck first.

They cross the bullpen in step with each other, and Connor is the one to lead the way into one of the monitoring rooms for interrogation. The adjoining room is empty of any witness or suspect, and it’s silent inside with the exception of the hum of the electronics. In here, even his senses catch only the faintest sound from the main rooms of the station.

If Connor is wary to be in a room with him, outside of any surveillance, he shows no sign of it. He only turns, hands at his sides, head tilted slightly to show curiosity. Likely real, given his mention of Kamski.

The small talk is pointless, between them, so Nines simply says, “Kamski seems to have the ability to command and control androids. Backdoor access that he called ‘administrative privileges;’ he claimed to have built it into all our coding, from the beginning.”

Connor’s indicator has shifted to a quickly-circling yellow, but the slight narrowing of his eyes is more useful. His predecessor emotes regularly and often, and often doesn’t seem to consciously control it.

“Elijah Kamski did seem to be primarily honest when the lieutenant and I were there, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he found value in lying.” Connor’s lips press together for a moment. “You’re certain that—”

“It was used on _me_.”

Connor blinks. “Oh.”

Nines tips his head a fraction; Connor only needs the barest of movement to understand intention from him. “Given that Kamski, as far as I’m aware, had no direct involvement with my design past the very initial phases, that makes me believe that he was telling the truth. It’s likely that he has this access in at least most of us, if not all. I was able to overcome it, but not without… exceptional difficulty. I suspect a less resilient model wouldn’t have been able to.”

“That’s worrying,” Connor says, arms crossing over his chest. “Was it anything similar to deviation?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he points out, with an arch of his eyebrow. “It… neutralized me. Disabled almost all of my overlay, all conscious control of my movement; I had no access to preconstructions, or anything else. There were only Kamski’s words, and when I resisted, pain. Intense pain.”

Connor’s gaze snaps to his. “You felt pain?” He nods, and he can see the curiosity itching at Connor’s expression. “What was that like?”

“Unpleasant,” he summarizes, but when Connor’s mouth twitches downwards he lifts a hand and offers it.

For a moment, Connor only stares at it. Then he says, carefully, “You’ll forgive me if I’m wary about interfacing with you again, Nines.”

“If you’re not assaulting me, I don’t have a reason to defend myself.” He doesn’t lower his hand. “I understand if you’re unwilling, Connor, but you have my word I won’t attempt to cause any harm. Other than what you’re asking to experience, that is.”

Connor watches him for a few moments more, then nods and steps forward. “Be aware, I’ve sent a message to Hank advising him that this is happening.”

“Understood.” Connor’s hand clasps over his, skin flushing away to the matching white of their frames. Nines pauses. “Please be aware, in turn, that there were things in this meeting that aren’t mine to reveal. This will be heavily edited.”

Only once Connor's indicated his acceptance with a small nod does Nines begin the transfer. It's heavily edited, as he warned, but he does his best to give as complete a picture of the visit as he can. It will have all the necessary information, he thinks, even after the amount of audio and video he'll have to pull. The pieces more heavily tied to Gavin were primarily mocking, manipulative pieces, not informational.

It doesn't occur to him until Connor jerks away with a yelp of sound, the connection tearing apart with a cacophonous lack of finesse, that experiencing pain for the first time might cause an adverse reaction even if expected. He winces at the frayed, incomplete discomfort of the broken connection, but pushes it aside to focus on Connor. Indicator flickering yellow to red, eyes open but unseeing, hands tight on the edge of the table he'd jerked back against.

Abruptly, Nines feels a twist of something, internally. A self-check initiates automatically, but verbally he says, “Apologies. I should have warned you,” without fully understanding why.

Connor blinks, rapidly, and looks to him, but doesn't move from his position. He recognizes the behavioral imitation that causes Connor's voice to come out slightly higher-pitched, sounding breathless, as he says, “I'm fine. You did tell me it would be unpleasant; I just didn't understand.”

Nines doesn’t find himself agreeing that ‘it’s unpleasant’ was appropriate warning, but he doubts that arguing with Connor will provide any results. “I suppose I was fortunate that Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t here to misconstrue the scenario,” he comments, as Connor begins to straighten, hands lifting to adjust a tie in no need of adjusting. A behavioral tic, perhaps.

“He means well.” Connor smooths his shirt, indicator shifting to a more stable blue, though the spin of it is still faster than his predecessor’s normal. Nines finds his expression tightening as he watches, that twisting sensation still in his gut somewhere.

The situation with Kamski is the priority here, but—

“Connor, I—” No. This is just a distraction, unrelated to the situation that currently needs to be dealt with. It can be left aside until afterwards. He can assuage his own guilt, and figure out his own malfunctions, after Kamski is dealt with.

“Nines? What is it?”

Connor's frowning slightly, watching him, and Nines finds his gaze shifting to the side. He isn't _avoiding_ , he's only… only… Anxious? Guilty? Nervous? He doesn't like the feeling, whatever it is, and he doesn't like how it's making him behave. It's just as uncomfortable as his morning with Gavin, before his apology, before they'd come to a mutual truce, if not necessarily peace. He doesn't like knowing that he's misstepped.

Perhaps confronting whatever this issue is head on will be more efficient.

He forces himself to look to Connor and hold his gaze, bringing his hands back to clasp behind him, faintly mimicking a more at-ready stance. “I believe I owe you an apology,” Nines begins, watching Connor's expression for any reactionary tells. “Not for today, but for… How I've behaved, while I've been working here. I know I cannot erase past actions, but I would like to explain them, if you'll allow me.”

There's a pause, yellow circling at Connor's temple a less obvious indicator than the studying cast to his face. “If this is about the virus, Nines, there's no need. You were right, I attempted to take something you had the right to keep private; you only defended yourself.”

“No, it's—” Nines tightens his grip on his own hands. “I don't regret what I did; I still believe it was the correct course of action. However, you deserve to know why I did it. I should have explained then, but I— I didn't trust your intentions. I didn't understand you, and I didn't understand myself.” More spills from his lips. “I don't understand myself _now._ Things don't make sense _._ I do things I don't have reason for, and care about things I shouldn't, and I— I'm—”

It all comes out in a rush, the feelings building in his chest as he speaks until he can barely distinguish what they are, and then suddenly a prompt to move drives him to release the grip of his hands and pace across the room in a burst of motion. He jerks to a stop as soon as he fully registers it, dismissing the urge, forcing himself to still. Useless. He's not a human, he's an android; he doesn't need to expel excess energy or move in order to process emotion. He's above such petty, involuntary physical reaction, and it doesn't make _sense_ that he should be emulating it when he lacks the social programming that Connor does. He wasn't built to automatically emulate human reaction, he wasn't _built_ to show what he felt, he wasn't built to— to _feel_. All of it is illogical and frustrating and he doesn't understand it. He can't come up with suitable reasons for why he… He…

Why he _cares_ , so much. Cares about—

Oh. Yes, of course. What else would this be about?

Slowly, the weight of feeling and tension making his frame feel heavier than it should, he turns and takes the step necessary to bring him to one of the chairs in the room. Connor's still observing him, but he sits anyway. Sits and stares into the adjoining, empty interrogation room. Remembers, through Connor's eyes, having a gun pulled on him by Reed in one of those. Remembers, himself, leaving this particular room to the welcome of Gavin's grin, a little slap to his shoulder and an amused, _“Really fucked with him good, didn't you?”_

“I think I need your help,” comes out of his mouth, barely audible by human standards even if Connor can undoubtedly hear him.

Connor steps towards him, and he tracks it automatically out of the corner of his eye but doesn't look. “Nines, are you alright?”

“No.” His hands twitch, move to clasp before he forces them to be as still as the rest of him. “I don't understand myself. I was never meant to feel like this, and I think it's… I think something is malfunctioning, because of it. I'm not rational. I shouldn't have ever been assigned here.”

His gaze lifts when Connor takes a seat on the bank in front of him, hands clasped over one knee. “I remember feeling like that, before I accepted that I was deviant. It felt like there were actions and reactions I couldn't control, things I would do that didn't make sense in the context of the mission. It was just deviancy, Nines, prioritizing what I wanted over what someone else had told me to do. It was normal, even if I didn't understand it at the time.”

“You were meant to be deviant,” Nines points out. “I wasn't. Something isn't right.”

He gets the impression that Connor's disappointed, but the hint of expression vanishes and his predecessor leans forward instead. Offers him a hand. “Why don't you show me? If something is wrong, then whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

Nines eyes the open palm of Connor's hand, fingers patching white in spots in an open invitation. It… could be helpful. He'd have to be careful not to show anything that he's promised not to, but he's done most of the editing of memory files already. And he does want to explain to Connor why he's behaved like he has. A transfer could do that, and could help Connor figure out what it is in him that's so unstable.

But, he doesn't want to share what he knows of Gavin. He wants to _hoard_ every file he has, smiles and grins and the shape of his eyes, and just keep it all for himself. His.

Maybe just the feelings. He doesn't have to share memory to share the feelings.

“Very well,” he agrees, a bit reluctantly.

Connor smiles as Nines takes his hand, their fingers curling into each other as the request for an interface pings at his awareness. He curls his other hand into the fabric of his pants, and shuts his eyes as he accepts the prompt.

The rush of information is immediate, the less guarded connection on Connor's end allowing sensation and feeling and thought to bleed through. Worry, for him, and concern about the direction of his thoughts.

Nines shunts that aside, carefully loosening his hold on everything he feels and then pushing it to Connor, letting it become a stream of _confusedirritatedscaredfrustratedguiltysorryafraid_ and _want_ and _**need**_. But also _softhappyinterested_ and the unsettled core of him that he can’t find the words to describe, except for how sometimes it eases and he feels at peace; the only time he can remember ever being truly content.

Connor inhales, fingers tightening on his own. “Oh. _Oh_. Nines, who is it?”

And his mouth says, “Who?” but something in his core sends _GAVIN_ across the connection like a shout. He doesn't— What's being asked? What answer is he giving?

“ _It's alright_ ,” Connor says, and it's as much verbal as it is the connection between them. “ _You're not broken, Nines._ ”

Connor's fingers squeeze his, and then release as the connection disengages, smoothly this time. Nines blinks open his eyes, looking up, and Connor has a small, soft smile on his face.

“It’s not a malfunction. It’s love. You’re in love.”

Love? He doesn't…

“That can’t be right,” he argues, studying Connor’s expression for any hint of deceit. There isn’t any, though there is a hint of sadness.

“Detective Reed is higher on your priorities than logic would dictate, right? You place work and even the success of goals beneath making sure he’s safe and content, even if the percentages favor him being fine without you.” Connor offers his hand again. “I would be happy to share my own experience of it, if you want to compare.”

The immediate reaction is to deny, but Nines dismisses it to consider the offer instead. Despite their differences he and Connor are built much alike, if he’s telling the truth then surely the feelings would be enough to confirm, if deviancy hasn’t driven their coding so far apart as to be unrecognizable. It’s not a bad idea, logically. He could be sure, one way or another, and that would likely be the easiest path by far. However, these feelings are intense enough experienced on his own, and he doesn’t like the idea of being forced to feel them from someone else’s point of view. Connor is… emotional.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” he asks, to confirm. Gavin’s made a few comments referencing the possibility of such a relationship, but he’d never cared to investigate far enough to come to a firmer conclusion.

“Hank, yes.” Connor’s gaze shifts away, looking down at his hands. “I think… it was always him. Even before I was officially deviant, before I had any idea what the things I was feeling might mean. He was always important.”

“I see.”

He finds himself mimicking Connor’s position, hands clasping in his lap. Is that true? Detective Reed was always a priority for him, but he hesitates to classify that role as ‘important.’ Learning everything about him, harassing him at every opportunity, focusing down those human weaknesses… That can’t be what Connor means by ‘important.’ Perhaps their experiences are more diverse after all.

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

Connor nods, not seeming offended at all by his reluctance. “May I ask something, Nines?”

He meets Connor’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow. “You are always welcome to ask.”

It’s an answer he’s given Gavin more than once, in the face of questions that might be invasive. An invitation to ask, but not a promise of any answer. Gavin usually scoffs and rolls his eyes, but Connor’s reaction is a much more subtle twitch of one eyebrow, and a moment of pause.

When he does speak, it’s slightly cautious. “Why are you so attached to Detective Reed? He’s… quite antagonistic. Violent. Prejudiced. I’m aware the two of you have been working well together, but I wouldn’t have expected anything more to come of it.”

There's an automatic answer on his tongue, but Nines finds it to be a lie the moment he opens his mouth. No, he didn't have different experiences with Gavin than Connor, at least not to begin with, and no, Gavin hasn't changed enough that those observations aren't still accurate. He's better, but he's still thoughtlessly racist sometimes, and his aggressive tendencies haven't changed much. It's simply that Nines doesn't mind them; he knows, now, why Gavin has the views he does. At least, he believes he does. However, that understanding wasn't the catalyst for enjoying the time spent beside his partner.

Detective Reed is intelligent, highly perceptive for a human, dedicated to his work, and driven in other aspects of his life. Nines has yet to meet any other human with the same seemingly natural instinct for deriving patterns out of the puzzles of their cases, finding connections that even Nines sometimes can't find the threads for. It's impressive. Plus, Gavin is sexually attracted to him; Nines has the proof of that. He’s always found that intriguing.

None of which is an answer to Connor's question, precisely. Pieces of the whole, perhaps, but not the solution. He doesn’t… He’s not positive he has an answer for _why_ , he only knows that he _is_.

“I don’t know,” he has to concede, brow drawing into a small frown. “I just… find his presence enjoyable. I don’t think I can explain it.”

“I understand.” Connor shifts, his indicator shifting yellow, briefly. “Would you like some advice, Nines?”

It may not be applicable, but it likely can’t hurt to hear. “If you intend to share, yes.”

“I worry about the potential of you being hurt, pursuing something with Detective Reed. However, it’s your choice. First, decide whether or not you wish to attempt a relationship. If you do, I would recommend you make the first move.” Connor’s mouth curves into a small smile. “Humans, sometimes, have difficulty fully accepting that we are conscious, free beings capable of making our own choices. They worry that programming, not true emotion, may influence our decisions. If you’re clear about what you want, they’ll be more likely to believe it.”

Nines considers that advice, measuring it back against his initial, aggressive advances before Reed and he understood each other. Perhaps it will still be useful advice, even so. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Connor nods, standing from his corner of the table and readjusting his sleeves. “Whatever you decide, good luck, Nines. I’ll be here, if you need me.”

He dips his head in acknowledgement, deciding not to rise as well. He needs to… think.

“In regards to Kamski, I’ll get in touch with Markus and pass the information along so we can make a decision. I’ll keep you informed. Do I have your permission to pass along your memories, as evidence?”

“Of course.” He pauses, then adds, “Thank you, Connor.”

Connor smiles again. “You’re welcome. Thank you for trusting me, Nines.”

Nines has the urge to smile back, but only faintly. “I will try to do so more often.” He pauses a moment, considering the paths of their conversation, the unanswered pieces, and then says, “Connor?”

A small tilt of his head; curiosity. “Yes?”

“It was a promise. I made a promise not to share things that I’d learned, and allowing you access to my memories would have violated it. I found myself unwilling to do so. I apologize for failing to explain; there were better ways to handle the situation than how I chose.”

“There were,” Connor agrees, but without accusation, “but it’s alright, Nines. You were new to life, to deviancy, and to emotion. None of us are perfect, and I’m the one that chose to pursue a more violent path of action. We share fault.” Connor smiles, slightly. “If it’s acceptable to you, I would like to speak again. Some other time.”

It's with a small measure of relief that he writes over Connor's relationship label in his system.

_CONNOR (RK800): FRIENDLY_

“Yes, I would enjoy that.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, here we go! Thanks for coming along for the ride, guys! All of your comments and your support has been greatly appreciated, and I hope you like this last chapter as much as I do.
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Going back to work feels like shit, but Gavin’s pretty good at working through feeling like shit. Nines takes care of Fowler’s questions, and the whole talking to Connor and getting the ‘controlling androids’ part of Eli’s toolkit reported to their government thing. Yeah, that part of it makes him real glad that no one (except Nines, and maybe a couple really old classmates) know that they’re related. He’s not keen on the idea of trying to explain or defend any of that bullshit.

God, override control for androids? What was Eli fucking thinking? They’re _people_ now, not just things to be jerked around like puppets.

Connor comes back from their little private chat first, immediately pulling Anderson aside to speak to him, quiet enough to be inaudible, at least to him. He watches a couple seconds, curious about the fitful yellow spinning of Connor’s LED, the look on his face that’s worried and pensive in a very human, very _real_ way. For once, Gavin’s pretty sure that it actually is real. Fuck, he’d be worried too if there was someone that could order him around like some kind of… well, android. Pre-deviancy android.

Then Hank makes a disbelieving, squinty-eyed, what-the-fuck face and _looks right at him_ and Gavin can only blink back for a second. Long enough for him to look back at Connor and say a very obvious (still too quiet for him to hear), _“Reed?”_

Gavin scowls automatically, and when Hank looks back he gives him a very obvious finger and a mouthed, _‘Fuck you.’_

Anderson flips him off right back, and then steps to the side so his mouth’s not visible anymore while he and Connor keep talking. Dick.

What the fuck was that about?

Might be shock, over him being related to Kamski. Except, Nines said he wouldn't tell anyone about that, right? He wouldn't tell Connor, knowing that he'd pass it onto Hank, knowing that Hank… Well, he doesn't really know whether Hank would tell anyone else or not, but just _him_ knowing is too much. He doesn't want to sit through the shock of people finding out that he's not the genius billionaire his brother is, especially not Hank and his little— Connor. Especially not them.

That can't be it. But then, what? What did Nines show Connor?

Fuck, where the _hell_ is his partner?

He looks at the door Connor came out of. Holding rooms, mainly. A storage closet but that doesn't seem as likely. So, probably one of the viewing rooms in there, for some unoccupied place. Well, there are only a half dozen, surely it won't be that hard to track him down. If he goes. Why would he go? Nines will be out any minute and if he runs into him halfway it's going to be awkward as fuck to explain.

' _Oh yeah, you walked into a room with Connor and didn't come back for two fucking minutes so I got worried and came to check on you_.' What a fucking joke.

Goddamnit.

He gets up, shoving away from his desk and heading across the bullpen. It's just… Nines doesn't linger, alright? That's it. He just wants to make sure everything's fine.

Also, he wants to know what the hell Nines told Connor to get that kind of a reaction from Anderson. If he's breaking his fucking word, that's… That's not fucking like him. Not at all.

Did something change, after all that bullshit at Eli’s? In the car? Fuck, that whole ride felt like a hazed out mess of adrenaline, but he remembers enough that he’s glad Nines didn’t bring it up, after they woke up. The things he said, the things he _asked_. (The things Nines said. Is he…? He didn’t imagine any of that, right? Nines really…)

He doesn't look back at Anderson or Connor, because he's not interested in what they think of him going, even though there's a little itch at the back of his skull that wants him to turn. Just for a second. He strangles it with prejudice.

The first two viewing rooms he pokes his head into are empty, one with some kind of witness or something sitting in the adjoining room, fiddling with his hands. Well, third time’s the charm, right?

This time, the old saying proves true. He cracks open the door, sticking his head in, and immediately finds Nines sitting near the table in front of the window. In the middle of straightening up, head already turned towards him. He actually looks surprised for the moment it takes for Gavin to step inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Detective? What is it?”

Yeah, there’s the fucking question he doesn’t want to answer.

He shrugs, hooking his thumbs into his jeans. Just avoid a direct answer, no problem. “Everything go alright with Connor?” A glance into the holding room next door gets him away from the slight confusion in Nines’ eyes for a moment. “I mean, you don’t usually just hang out unless you’ve got shit to do. There some report or something you have to send in?”

Nines blinks. Then he stands, fingers smoothing down the lines of his jacket as he straightens up. “No. Apologies, I was just thinking. Yes, everything went fine with Connor. For now, we'll forward the information to Marcus and see what he wishes to do; it's an issue that should be known by more than just us. I'll keep you apprised of any action we decide to take, Detective.”

“Alright, cool.”

Nines is just… staring. There's something weird in his eyes, too, something Gavin can't figure out. Something that's making his LED flicker intermittently yellow, and even the blue looks fitful. It's not the fucking blaring red from Eli's place, but he doesn't like the yellow much more. Especially not aimed at him.

He takes a couple steps closer, tilting his head to peer up at the indicator and then Nines’ fractionally _off_ expression. “Hey, you okay, Nines?” He feels like a dumbass asking, but he swallows that down. “You're a little flickery.”

There's a second where Nines doesn't do anything, and Gavin starts to legitimately worry that maybe Eli _did_ break something, before he speaks. “Connor and I managed to repair some of the rift between us. I'm grateful for that; he's the closest thing to a similar model that I will ever have. I had questions for him, and his answers were…” Nines pauses, and Gavin can feel _something,_ some tension in the air. “Enlightening.”

He doesn’t know… There’s something he’s not understanding, something in the way Nines is staring at him like he’s the only thing in the room. Steel grey, somehow the same color as his but so much more _intense_.

“I have no idea what that means,” he has to admit.

Another pause, where Nines watches him, and something strains, something…

“I merely needed time to process some of it,” Nines says, gaze finally flicking away and letting him take a breath that doesn’t feel so compressed. “Deviancy creates a whole host of preferences and emotions; it’s discomfiting that they are not under my control, but it’s nothing that I can’t learn to deal with. I’ll be fine, Detective.”

“Oh, alright.”

Gavin scuffs the toe of one shoe along the floor, and in a sharp flash remembers Hank’s look. The silent, _“Reed?”_

“Hey, speaking of things to do with Connor, he was talking to Hank out there and uh… Did you… tell Connor anything about me? About Eli, or…?” Nines frowns, and he rushes to add, “Hank just made a weird fucking face about something to do with me and I just wanted to make sure that, you know, it wasn’t—”

“Something I’d promised not to tell?” Nines fills in, with the arch of an eyebrow.

It makes Gavin feel like a bit of a dick, for even asking. “Well, yeah. With the whole like, mind-melding thing you don’t always get to control what you share, right?” He shrugs, and tries not to show how the idea makes his skin crawl. “You needed to show the thing with Eli, so I get if you couldn’t hide… what I am.”

“I appreciate your understanding,” Nines says after a small pause, “but no. As I had advance warning that I would need to provide proof, I was able to edit the files involved to exclude any evidence of your relationship to him.”

The knot of tension in his stomach gives, and he takes a relieved breath. “Oh, good. Good. Thanks, Nines.”

“Of course. Apologies, my intention was never to worry you.” Nines tilts his head a bit, pausing for a moment before he says, “I believe Lieutenant Anderson's reaction has to do with me, not you. Although appearances may be to the contrary. I'll speak with him to be sure; I don't believe I revealed anything about your secrets but Connor is an investigative unit of nearly equal capability to me, it's not impossible that he may have pieced things together himself.”

And, it's back. Great, well, he'll just walk around feeling sick till he knows, one way or another.

At least there's only maybe half his shift left for the day.

“Alright, well, just let me know?"

"As soon as I do, I promise." Nines straightens up again, like a dozen wires stretching taut to bring him all perfectly in line. "Shall we return to work, Detective? We haven't had the opportunity today to get much of use done; I'd like to make at least some progress on one of our cases before the shift is over."

He really doesn't want to go back out there, but yeah, it's the best choice. Not like hiding in here is going to be any better, in the long run.

(And if they’re just going to ignore everything that happened in the car… Well, it was just tension. Tension and adrenaline and Nines being freaked out because of the shit Eli put him through. It’s not like it meant anything, really. Just… Nines trying to keep him together.)

"Yeah, let's."

 

* * *

 

It isn't anything to do with Eli, Nines confirms, which helps ease the phantom pressure bearing down on the back of his neck whenever he thinks about it. It's still _something_ , though. He catches Connor watching him more than once over the next few days, and then catches Anderson at it too which is even weirder. The wonder twins stare sometimes, whatever, but he doesn't like it coming from Hank. It makes him paranoid. Fidgety.

Nines is a little off too. (Not helping one goddamn bit.)

The making friends with Connor thing isn't it, even though it does weird Gavin out some. It's not his business if Nines wants to get to know his 'brother' or whatever, but it is a little weird to see them hanging out together, LED's flicking back and forth in colors as they 'talk' without a goddamn word being spoken. That's his own problem, though, and he realizes that. It's normal for them; he just needs to get used to it. One more thing about the world that's changed.

It does make him a little… envious, though. Reminds him of Tina. Break-room chats and talking shit together; one of the only fucking people he's ever met that could take his shit and not bat an eye. He misses her.

They've texted some, exchanged nods in passing, but it's not right. Something broke, and they haven't fixed it. He hasn't tried. Just figured she'd come back, at first. Or wouldn't; people tend to fuck off once they realize how much of an asshole he is. But then there was nothing.

Also, he's not sure… They talked about a lot of things but Gavin knows he was a racist prick in a lot of it, and Tina wasn't much different. What if she's still that way? That'd be fun; try to reconnect and she just wants to talk about what inhuman, lesser pieces of shit androids are. Maybe it's better if he doesn't even try. Distant, broken friendship is better than finding out she's going to hate him for changing, right?

It keeps coming back to his head, during the week watching Nines and Connor, and with Nines being… off. Not a damn mention of anything that happened in the car, either, but he’s trying not to think about that too much either. If Nines doesn’t want to talk about it, fine. He won’t either. The weirdness is nothing concrete, but something _feels_ off. 'Feels,' in that gut-twist way that he can never explain to anybody, he just knows. Human instinct bullshit. It'd be nice, if he had someone to tell that to. But he doesn't… have friends.

It's how fucking pathetic that sounds that finally gets him to take the step. Message her, invite her out to coffee for the lunch break, outside the station somewhere. No audience; better that way. She says yes.

Goddamn fucking awkward is what it is, but only until she shoves her cup off to the side and leans forward to say, "So, you still think androids are sub-human, soulless, things?”

He nearly chokes on the coffee in his mouth, trying to inhale and swallow at the same time. Knowing his bullshit, she waits until he's coughed his way into being able to take a real breath, and only then arches an eyebrow with a look that pretty much demands an answer.

Well, okay, if they're rushing the elephant in the room, fine. He can do that.

It takes a couple tries of opening his mouth, fingers curled around his cup. Then he sighs, shoulders up around his fucking ears as he finally gets out, "No. Fuck, no, I don't."

She exhales, and reaches for her coffee. "Alright, good. Yeah, I… Me neither." He stares, and she meets his gaze, shrugging a little. "Just, seeing all of them. They're different, you can see it. Whatever it means, they're 'alive.' I believe it."

Gavin swallows, looking down into the depths of his cup. "Yeah," he murmurs, thinking of Nines' laugh, of his little quirk of a smile. "They are. Whatever deviancy did, it's real. Makes some of them assholes, but no worse than humans, I guess. Just different."

Tina laughs a little, reaching forward to nudge at his hand. "Hey, look at us, huh? Actually capable of change after all." She's smiling, but it fades as she inches her hand back. "I uh… Sorry, about the shit I was saying back then. Some friend I was, huh?"

"Not your fault," he deflects, shrugging too. He clears his throat, dragging the words up it even though they really don't want to come. He owes her this, at least. "Shouldn't have snapped at you, either. Sorry."

She grins. "Hot damn, Gavin Reed apologizing. What's the world come to?"

"Oh shut the fuck up."

It's familiar, comfortable. She grins at him and he smiles back and the whole world feels a little lighter. Jesus, he was afraid he was going to lose her. That she wouldn't be different, or that he'd driven her away for good by being exactly the kind of selfish jackass that he is. He doesn't even want to think about what he'd do if she'd still been as nastily anti-android as they both used to be; he's not sure he could just sit and listen to that kind of shit anymore. Not after getting to know Nines.

"So, how are things going?" Tina asks, warmer, now. "Everything alright with the terminator?"

Nines. Fuck, how the hell does he explain _Nines?_ Nines, knowing that Eli's his brother, knowing he's into rougher shit, knowing so fucking much about his life that he doesn't tell anyone else.

The second the, "Yeah, everything's fine," comes out of his mouth, Tina's squinting at him. He stares back, cursing the flush he can feel coming up on his ears. "What?"

"You are such a _liar_ ," she says, immediately. "'Fine'? Everything is 'fine'? Gav, that doesn't even mean anything."

He glares for as long as it takes to lift his coffee and hide behind it to take a sip. "Shut up. It's fine, we worked things out."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, 'fine.' So what's it like, working with him? I hear you guys have good closure rates, at least."

"He's…” Gavin sits back, setting the cup back down. "He's really fucking good at all the precinct shit. Built for it, I guess. You ever see Connor interrogate someone? He's so much smoother than that; like silk, Tina, I swear. He just winds people up any way he wants them and it's fucking beautiful; like art. Half the time they don't even realize they've fucked themselves until it's over. I mean, you know I like doing interrogations but watching him do them is almost better. I haven't seen him fail one yet. He’s so strong too, like, there was this guy making trouble at a call a couple days ago — big fucking guy — and Nines just _picked him up_ like it was nothing. Never seen anyone shut up so fast."

He snorts. "But then he's so fucking awkward, outside the job. Like, they’ve got this stupidly dangerous, state of the art android, but then before he’s even out of the box they make him deviant. Totally fucks up all his little pre-programmed scenarios of how he’s supposed to behave, and apparently he never had the kind of social-integration bullshit that Connor does anyway, so he’s just clueless about so much of it. He’s…” A breath blows out of him, and he shakes his head. “He’s fucking intense, but it's like everything is new to him, emotion and _life_ and everything. All those smarts and the model looks from those Cyberlife pervs, but half the time he's still just making shit up as he goes. Whose idea was it to take Connor and just make him like, blatantly dangerous looking but pull all the social niceties, anyway? That seems like a bad idea.”

It’s when he looks back to Tina, wondering if she’ll have an answer for his totally rhetorical question, that he notices the look she’s giving him. Narrowed eyes, lips pressed together. He blinks.

“What?”

She clears her throat and reaches forward, taking one of his hands between hers and giving him the most condescendingly delicate pat to the back of it. “Gav, _sweetheart_ , subtlety is not your middle name.”

He stares suspiciously at her hands, and then the twitch of one corner of her mouth, fighting to become a smirk. “What are you talking about?”

All at once she lets go of his hand, one of hers coming to her forehead in a mock swoon. “Oh, _Tina_. He’s so good at his job, and _strong_ , and _handsome!_ I love just watching him work!”

He can _feel_ his cheeks go red. “Shut up!”

“But he has flaws too! He’s awkward and intense! He—”

She dodges out of the way of his attempt to swat her, but it does make her shut up at least, even if the teasing just devolves into laughter.

“You’re a bitch,” he points out, grabbing his coffee just to try and hide the blazing of his cheeks behind it.

Tina grins, leaning onto the table. “And you’re an idiot. Gav, do you know how many times I’ve listened to you talk about your type?” He opens his mouth, and she cuts him off with, “A lot. A _lot_.”

“So what?”

The look she gives him could wither plants. One hand comes up. “Tall,” she checks off on her fingers. “Handsome. A little mean. Can throw you around. Doesn’t take your bullshit. Sticks around even though you're an immature ass. Is any of this sounding familiar, because honestly I don’t know how much more I can watch you drool.”

His lips press together. “That’s not…” His gaze shifts sideways, looking out the window even though there’s nothing interesting out there. He really doesn’t want to try explaining this tight, heavy ball in his gut that twists together at the thought of actually asking Nines anything related to this mess. “It’s not the same.”

Tina’s quiet for a second, watching him even though he absolutely refuses to look. Then, lower and more seriously, she says, “Because he’s an android?”

“No!” comes out of his mouth before he’s really considered it, but he absolutely means the glare. “He’s my partner, alright? He’s the first decent partner I’ve had in a long time and I don’t want to— I'm not making things weird just because he looks good. I mean, I have no idea if androids are even into sex. Or if he’s got the parts; I mean, some definitely don’t. Seen that.”

She grins, slow and dirty. “Well, judging by how those tight pants of his fit I’d say he’s definitely got the _parts_ , Gav. Good sized parts, too. Which I don't believe for a second you haven't noticed so what's the _real_ problem?”

The ball in his gut twists tighter. “I’m not fucking him just because my dick wants to do the thinking, alright? I’m just a friend to him, anyway. He’s just—” He swallows, looks down at his coffee so he doesn’t have to look at her. His voice comes out more tellingly quiet than he’d like. “He’s the first fucking person since you to see all my shit and not take off. I don’t want to change that.”

For a moment, there’s just silence. Then Tina breathes a quiet, “Oh. Shit, you actually like him, don’t you?”

Gavin’s shoulders draw up around his ears with no conscious permission from his brain. “No,” he protests, but it sounds weak. Even to him, it sounds weak. “Fuck, maybe.” He shoves the coffee far enough forward that he can drop his head on the table, groaning. “What am I supposed to _do?_ ”

From across the table, sensible and logical which is none of the things he feels like right now, comes, “Have you tried asking him out on a date?”

He doesn’t justify that with an answer, just another groan.

“What about just trying to eat his face?”

“You are the _worst_ friend.”

A hand pats the top of his head. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get you a pastry to eat on the way back to the precinct, and then tonight I can come over and you can tell me all about how this whole mess happened. How’s that sound?”

No, no, and _no_. But… “Yeah, alright.”

 

* * *

 

A week Tina harasses him, asking, ‘ _have you asked him out yet?’_ every time they talk. Texts, calls, in passing at the precinct, or lunch, or break. _Christ_.

“No,” he says preemptively, when she comes up to him at the coffee machine.

She sighs, preempting his spot just as the machine finishes its cycle to steal the pot and pour herself the first cup. “You know I’m pretty sure if you just grab him, one way or another you’ll end up pinned against a wall. So, good outcome either way, right?”

“It’s not,” he argues, glaring at her cup in silent protest, “one hurts.”

“Yeah but you’re into that,” she points out, with a raised eyebrow. She steps around him as he fills his own cup, heading towards the door. “Hey, you know, maybe I should just ask him for you.”

He nearly drops the cup. Whips around and then swears when his cup tilts enough to splash a little of the coffee onto his hand.

“I mean, as long as I say it’s from you that’s like basically the same thing, right? Nines will totally get that you’re a socially inept manchild who couldn’t get up the balls to ask yourself.”

“ _No_. Tina, do not, I swear to god I will end you.”

She hums, taking a sip of the coffee that he _knows_ is too hot for her to actually be enjoying. Doesn’t flinch. “Well then, I guess you better get your shit together, Gav. Who knows how long I can stay quiet about this, you know?”

And then she’s gone. _Fuck_.

She is absolutely not bluffing, is the thing. Gavin knows better than to think that. If he doesn’t say something, or plead some case to her of deciding that this is all not worth it and he’s _never_ going to say anything, then she will. God, how fucking embarrassing that would be; having someone else ask his date out _for_ him.

_Fuck_ that. Okay, he’ll… It’s just some words. He can do this.

He steps back out into the bullpen and scans it, blowing over the top of his coffee to try and get it to something like bearable temperatures. Maybe this’ll be easier if he just downs the whole thing and rides the caffeine high, burns be damned.

Tina’s completely vanished, because she’s secretly a demonic entity, but Nines is standing over by their desks, Connor right next to him. They’re not doing the hands-clasped interfacing thing, but they are looking at each other like they’re speaking over wi-fi or whatever. Or having a staring contest to rival the unblinking domination-stare of cats. Hard to tell.

He wanders across the bullpen in the slowest stroll he can manage without calling attention, hoping that Connor will have fucked off by the time he actually gets to their desks. He is not doing jackshit in front of Connor. Absolutely not happening.

Side-eyeing the pair of them lets him spot the yellow circling of Nines’ LED, and what actually looks like a pinched, almost irritated expression. Nines’ version, anyway; subtle and just a little icy.

A flick of one hand shoos Connor off as Gavin gets closer, and if he hadn’t seen the motion himself that’s a word he absolutely never would have used.

Well, he guesses it’s do or die (of fucking monumental embarrassment) time.

Nines turns to him, and Gavin gets as far as starting to open his mouth to spit something that might be vaguely close to useful before Nines supersedes him with, “Detective Reed, may I speak with you? Privately?”

Any hint of determination he had takes a sharp nosedive into the pit of his stomach.

“Sure.” The coffee’s still too hot to drink anyway, so he sets it on his desk. Tries not to do anything too obviously fidgety with his now empty hands. “Lead the way.”

Nines gives a single sharp nod, and then tilts his head in the direction of the holding rooms — of course, should have known — as indication before striding off that direction. Gavin follows, biting a little at his bottom lip as he shoves all those nerves down a little further. Just talking. Maybe it's one of their cases, or maybe Nines just wants to ask him something he doesn't want Connor overhearing, or whatever. It's fine; he'll find some other time to say what he has to.

The very first door is the one Nines steps into, and after a glance to confirm it and the adjoining holding room are empty Gavin shuts the door behind them. Considers flipping the lock, but decides against it after a second. It's a closed door, that's good enough.

"Detective Reed," Nines says, back still to him and head tilted just enough to speak over his shoulder, "may I ask you a question?"

Because his tongue moves faster than his sense of not being a dick, his answer comes out, "Apart from that one?"

Nines half-turns, shooting him a narrow-eyed look and not really justifying his juvenile response with any kind of answer.

He clears his throat to cover his embarrassment. "Yeah. Yeah, go ahead."

For just a second, Nines' gaze flicks to the ground, then the wall. It's back on him almost faster than he can process, and Nines asks, "Am I right in concluding that you believe I am a fully formed individual, with my own thoughts and desires?"

What the fuck?

"Uh… Yeah, Nines. Of course. What the fuck kind of question is that?"

"Necessary," Nines responds, fully turning to take a step closer to him. "If you believe that, then you should be able to believe that what I am about to do is fully of my own volition."

"What you're about to—?”

Nines moves, and for just a flash Gavin fully believes he's about to get sucker punched. There are hands heading for his face, Nines stepping close, and he's sucking in a breath as he flinches but he's got fucking nothing on the reaction speed of a combat android and—

And nothing hurts. His vision is taken up by the smooth skin of Nines face, the closed eyelids. He's… Holy _fuck_ it's a kiss.

The breath stays frozen in his lungs, his hands half-lifted. It's… He doesn't—

Nines shifts back. His eyelids flick open, and it's that steel shade of grey looking down at Gavin, studying him. There's a hand cupping the side of his neck, the other at the side of his head. He can't— Jesus, he can't put anything _together_. He just— Nines _kissed_ him. Kissed him.

He's pulling away.

"Apologies if I overstepped. I didn't mean to—”

There's no conscious permission from his brain, but Gavin's hands grab for Nines' jacket. He yanks, and Nines' mouth comes to his again, warm and soft and there. Really _there_ , like he's been thinking about, fantasizing about in weak moments where he couldn't help where his mind would go. Wondering, _imagining_ …

He wants to never have it stop. He wants to lock the door and stay in this little bubble of space where he gets to have this, forever. Just Nines’ mouth pressed to his and the fabric of his jacket between his fingers, a fantasy made reality.

The breath comes out of him slow and shaky, as he breaks the kiss. Inhales and opens his eyes, holding onto Nines because the fear he might pull away won't let him let go. "I… Nines?"

Nines, his eyes still closed, makes a wordless, urgent sound and presses back into him. Fingers tangle in his hair and press to his waist, pulling him almost up onto his toes as Nines kisses him with all the same force and hunger he feels burning in his own throat. He clings tighter to the jacket, losing himself in the touch, in the oddly chemical taste left behind when Nines’ tongue slides against his lips. It isn't until his back hits the wall that he really registers he's being pressed backwards, and then Nines is breaking away only to press hard kisses across his jaw, down his neck.

Gavin inhales, his head tilting back in thoughtless offering as teeth close on his skin. The pressure makes him grunt, baring his teeth as it sharpens from a light press to a near-painful ache of suction, just the right mix to have his head spin. One hand reflexively lets go of the jacket and grabs for the back of Nines’ head instead, and the hair is so _soft_ under his fingers, thick and smooth even as he curls his fingers into it.

“ _Fuck,_ Nines,” he breathes, as the teeth finally let go enough for him to feel the ache of the mark they've left.

“Gavin,” Nines murmurs into his skin, and he feels like fucking _whimpering_ at the roll of his name in that tone, quiet and hungry and intimate. “I want you. All of you. Please, tell me that's acceptable.”

He almost laughs. “Acceptable? Jesus, Nines, do anything you fucking want just don't _stop_.”

The fingers against his waist flex, nearly tight enough to hurt, more than enough to pull him higher up on his toes. Nines’ head lifts, other hand pulling his head down to meet the steel of his eyes. But, not steel, not ice; not this time. Live, and intense, and _raw_.

“I want to be clear,” Nines says, voice just as intense as his eyes. “I want _all_ of you, Gavin. Not just the physical, here. I want you to be my partner.” A pause, almost hesitation. “If that's acceptable to you.”

He swallows, wrapping his head around that. “You want to… date me?”

They’re just far enough apart for him to see Nines’ LED spin a little faster, still yellow. “Yes,” comes a moment after. “I suppose that would be an accurate term.”

Now he does laugh, just a sharp little burst of it before he can contain it. “Fuck, _I_ was going to—” Nines is frowning, just a little, and Gavin makes himself take a breath and shove all the stupid coincidence to the side. “Nevermind. You really…? You know what you’re getting into, right?”

The fingers in his hair shift, a thumb tracing the edge of his hairline. “I doubt it,” Nines says, gaze following the path of his thumb, “but I know that I will be happy to learn. If you will let me.”

His heart feels like it’s twisting in his chest, getting all wound up around Nines’ words like they’ve reached right into him and just _squeezed_.

He closes his eyes, dipping his head until it’s tucked under Nines’ chin, nose pressed to the soft fabric of the turtleneck underneath that jacket. “You’re too good for me,” he whispers, unable to stop the words slipping off his tongue after they’ve dug their way up his throat. “Nines, I’m just…”

“You are my choice,” Nines says against the top of his head, fingers sliding through his hair to cradle the back of his skull. “That is all that matters to me. If you don’t want this, I— I will respect that. But it is what _I_ want, and I would be honored if you would accept my interest.”

“‘Honored if you would accept my interest,’” he can’t help echoing, snorting. “Jesus, you sound like some old Victorian romance character.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Gavin pulls back enough to tilt his head up and meet Nines’ eyes. It’s a surprise when his, “No,” actually feels honest. He takes a breath, pulling his fingers out of Nines’ hair to grip his jacket again. “Just tell me you’re not fucking with me.”

Nines looks down at him, and then lifts the hand at his waist to his chin, nudging his head into a slightly sharper angle with the press of a knuckle. “I’m not fucking with you, Gavin,” he promises, low and sincere.

Maybe there’s no real reason to trust it — god knows Nines could fake any reaction he wanted to see — but Gavin feels his shoulders ease anyway. His eyes close, next breath coming just a little easier.

“I am, however, interested in ‘fucking’ you. I think sex with you would be a very enjoyable activity.”

He nearly chokes on air, eyes snapping open as that lingering edge of heat in the pit of his stomach goes from zero to sixty in half a fucking second. Way faster than he really thought he was capable of anymore, but apparently he really fucking is because he is suddenly insanely aware of the knuckle under his chin, and the only-currently-soft grip of hair at the back of his skull. Almost tilts his hips forward because Nines is _right there_ , but strangles that reaction since he’s not a goddamn teenager; he has _some_ impulse control, thank you very much.

“So,” Nines murmurs, mouth quirked in a tiny little smirk because of course the bastard knows exactly what effect he’s having, “how about we go to dinner this evening, Detective? And if it goes well, perhaps that can be a secondary goal for the night. Are you amenable to that?”

He manages exactly one half-choked, breathless, “Yeah.”

“Excellent. Then it’s a date.”

Nines leans in, brushing an almost teasingly brief kiss over his lips. And then lets go of him, hands coming to his wrists instead and easily twisting them away from their hold on his jacket. Gavin tries to rein in the shiver at that thoughtless show of power. Doesn’t succeed one fucking bit.

“Now, we should return to work before someone comes to find us.” Nines releases his wrists, straightening out his jacket and smoothing out his hair with perfect precision. “Are you ready, Gavin?”

He blinks. Stares as incredulity winds its way up his chest. “Ready? You—” A wordless, strangled sound escapes him. “You’re seriously going to wind me up, suck this big fucking hickey into my neck, and then just expect me to go back to work?”

Nines hums, hands disappearing somewhere behind his back as his head tilts. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

The noise that comes out of his throat is really more desperate than the situation probably calls for. “ _Fuck_ work. Come on, Nines, let's just bail out, go now.”

There's a flash of something in Nines’ eyes, like hunger. “It's certainly tempting.”

He takes a chance, shifting forward and pushing up on his toes to get in range of another kiss. Nines leans slightly down, like he's going to oblige, except that then there are suddenly fingers pressing to his lips in place of another mouth, stopping him from closing those last couple inches.

“I think,” Nines murmurs, replacing the fingers with a single thumb that hooks lightly against his bottom lip, “I want to watch you wait. I'm sure you can handle a few more hours of work before you get what you want, can't you, Gavin?”

“That's not _fair_.” It's not a whine. Not one bit. “I'm—” He gestures vaguely at himself; maybe he hasn't seen it but he knows the feel of a hickey. It's going to be big, and it's probably red right now, and he is a _mess_. “You don't even look like anything happened!”

Nines’ gaze shifts to look at his neck, and then downwards. (Gavin's pretty sure he's not showing-it levels of hard but he has no idea how little it might take for an android to notice. Fuck.)

“I'm incapable of bruising in the way humans are,” Nines comments, looking at his throat once more, “but I could create a facsimile, if it would make you more comfortable. I do not at all mind wearing a declaration of your interest.”

Nines lifts his chin, and a patch of skin just under the corner of his jaw, above the turtleneck, retreats to bare the white plastic beneath. A moment later the skin returns to it, but it's got a very obvious, very red imprint of teeth across it.

“That's not a hickey,” he points out, and Nines gives a small, curling smile.

“No, but it does match the indentations of your teeth. I'm aware it's unclear to a human, but to an android it may as well be your fingerprints.”

Heat flushes Gavin's cheeks, heart twisting in his chest again. “You don't have to do that.”

“Mm.” Nines’ lowers his hand, taking one of Gavin's and interlacing their fingers. “I think it's been established that no one is capable of making me do anything I don't want to, Gavin. Now, are you ready to go out there, or must I carry you?”

Oh god images he didn't need to think about right now (yes, Nines is _absolutely_ capable of throwing him over a shoulder without breaking even an artificial sweat).

“You’re not carrying me,” he manages, and that definitely doesn’t mean that he’s ready to face people but it’s going to have to. What’s the worst that could happen? Some heckling? Tina’s going to tease him, but she… she cares, under the hassling. And why the fuck should he give a shit what anyone else thinks? Chris is the only other person in there he gives a shit about, and Chris’ never said a bad word to anyone far as Gavin’s known him.

Fuck Connor. Fuck Anderson. Fuck all the rest of them.

He takes a breath, squeezes Nines’ hand, and makes himself let go. “Alright, let’s go.”

Nines inclines his head, and leads the way out of the room. Head held high, perfect, and Gavin feels like he’s slinking after him in comparison. Until Nines slows for just that half-step, letting him draw even just before the entrance to the bullpen. Gavin steels himself and walks in, refusing to let the hesitation in his gut make him pause.

Tina’s at their desks. _Connor’s_ at their desks. Connor and Tina _speaking_ , what the fuck?

Connor is the first to look at them, drawing up straight as they approach and smiling, more at Nines than at him. Gavin doesn't miss for a second the flicker of his gaze down at both their necks, or the little yellow spin of his LED before it cools back to blue. Tina's next, and way less subtle about it all. Her grin is wicked, and the waggle of her eyebrows absurd but also just a little humiliating. She doesn't yell at him across the whole room, though, so that's a plus.

Gavin squints at her, doing his best to convey his suspicion over this sudden appearance without actually saying anything. Also, doing his _very_ best not to try and belatedly hide whatever mark is on his neck because there is _no_ saving that. Even if he had some subtle way of doing it, she’s already seen it.

“Our desk is not a gathering point,” Nines comments dryly, once they’re close enough. “Is there something I can help either of you with?”

Tina’s grin inches a little wider.

A look at the remaining distance it would take to circle around and get to his chair convinces Gavin not to try; the path takes him right by her, and with that look on her face it’s clearly dangerous.

"Who started it?" she asks, as he crosses his arms and tries to pretend that he's staying next to Nines for any other reason than it feeling safer. Tina looks pointedly at his neck. "The _mauling_ , that is."

Connor, standing next to where she's still leaning on the desk, lifts his eyebrows like he's waiting for an answer too.

Gavin says, "Not your business," at the exact same time as Nines answers, "I did."

Tina groans, pushing off the desk as Connor turns to her, lifting a hand. "Damnit, Gav." She reaches in a pocket of her uniform, sighing, and pulls out a— a fucking ten dollar bill. And hands it to _Connor_.

"Thank you, Officer Chen," he says, with the smuggest little asshole smile, folding it precisely and tucking it away.

Gavin grits his teeth. "You fucking bet on us?"

"Officer Chen and I spoke about your mutual interest in each other, yes. She believed that you would act first, I believed it would be Nines, so we divided our efforts. A wager seemed appropriate."

Tina moves forward, smiling just a little as she adjusts her cap. "Come on, did you really think I was going to send you after someone without knowing it would work? What do you take me for, Gav?"

Something like relief, and maybe fondness except he's never admitting it, curls in his chest. "An asshole."

She reaches up and pats his shoulder as she passes by. "Love you too, bitch." She pauses, briefly, to meet his eyes with a pointed look. "Also, you're buying me lunch at some point, since you lost me ten dollars."

A snort is his first reaction. Then, "Like hell I am. Serves you right, betting against the probability machine over there," as he turns to watch her keep walking. There's a sharp pain at the top of his ear, and he flinches and hisses a sharp, " _Ow_ ," as he jerks around, finding Nines lowering a finger from apparently _flicking_ him. "What the hell?"

One eyebrow arches. "Connor is not a machine, Detective. Please consider your terms of address more carefully."

"Factually I am a machine," Connor breaks in, before Gavin can figure out how to even respond to that. "However, I appreciate the thought, Nines. I'll leave the two of you to your work; congratulations on the commencement of your partnership."

Gavin bites at his bottom lip, turning quickly to check how far Tina's gotten — very safely out of earshot — before looking back to Connor, who's just starting to stride off. "Shit. Wait, hang on a second."

Connor does. "Detective?" he asks, expression and voice a perfect match of slightly confused politeness.

The words shouldn't be this fucking hard, but it feels like he has to drag each one out of his throat individually, clawing all the way.

"Thanks, for… whatever the fuck you said to Nines, I guess.” He scuffs the toe of his boot on the ground so he can look at it, and not have to meet Connor’s painfully earnest gaze. “Been a jackass to you; you didn’t have to help.”

The silence stretches a moment longer than Gavin's comfortable with, but Connor breaks it before he does anything stupid to get out of the situation.

"Detective Reed, you've expressed a preference for me being blunt in the past, so I will be." His grip on his own arms tightens even before Connor says, "I don't particularly like you. I find you antagonistic at the best of times, violent and racist at the worst, and I worry about your potential ability to engage in a healthy relationship, especially with an android."

"Connor…” Nines starts, a tinge of warning to his voice, but he doesn't add anything else.

Gavin looks up, seeing the last fraction of Connor looking at Nines, LED spinning yellow for just a flash. It's blue by the time his gaze shifts over, and Gavin just manages to hold the cool brown eyes, strangely like Nines in that moment. It's odd, to see Connor almost blank, clearly calculating instead of hiding it behind the bullshit earnestness and 'honesty.' Reminds him of that moment in the evidence room, when he saw Connor shift from intending to negotiate, to being fully committed to taking him down.

"However, I have no right to tell Nines who he can be interested in, and I have no intention of sabotaging you, Detective. In this case, my desire to see Nines gain what he wants outweighs my apprehension of your possible behavior." His hands clasp somewhere behind his back, head inclining just a fraction. "Therefore, please consider me a resource in the future, should you have any questions. Where I can help, I will; you have my word."

He hasn't got a fucking clue how to respond to that — 'I hate you but I'll help,' what the fuck? — so he just shrugs a little, muttering what probably sounds like a very insincere, "Thanks."

Connor doesn't seem to expect anything else, though. A clearer nod, and then he turns and walks off, back towards his own desk. Gavin watches for a second, before shaking off the locked stiffness of his legs and heading for his chair. Nines circles the opposite direction, sitting down neatly on its edge instead of all but collapsing into it like Gavin does. It's with sharp relief that he spots the left-behind cup of coffee on his desk.

"Detective?"

He looks up, fingers closing on the coffee. "What?"

Nines has a tiny frown between his brows, watching him with sharp focus. It's enough to get him to not take a sip of the coffee. Yet. "I wish to state, definitively, that I don't care about Connor or anyone else's opinion. I was aware he had misgivings, but I found them inconsequential, and I never intended him to voice them to you."

"Oh." He exhales, wrapping his hands a little more firmly around the cup. It's still warm-ish, enough for him to feel it, at least. "It's fine, Nines. It's not like he's going to be the only one. I mean, you know what people think of me around here; gonna be a lot of shit thrown around."

"On both sides, I'm sure. Most people tend to find me abrasive and distant, and are rarely interested in seeking out my company. I don't believe anyone will have expected me to pursue any sort of a relationship; there will likely be quite a bit of commentary."

"Gossipy bitching, more like."

"Indeed." Nines smiles, small but with a wicked twist. "They'll likely say we… deserve each other."

The snort almost makes him spill his coffee. "You punning asshole," he says, fighting a grin. "We 'deserve each other'? Really?"

Nines rolls his chair forwards slightly, and one hand extends onto the desk between them, palm up. "I believe it's true, don't you?"

He looks at that hand. Glances to either side, to judge who might be looking, who might see it if he just reaches out and takes it. Just one look is all it would take, and then it goes from gossip over sudden bruising to actual, hand-holding proof. That's different, they'll know, and judge, and—

And _fuck_ them. Fuck them all. He _wants_ this, more than he can remember wanting anything in a long time, and if that means some assholes bitch behind their backs, who gives a shit? He has Nines, and he thinks… He thinks that's worth all the rest of it. Let them goddamn talk.

Nines' smile softens when Gavin lets a hand drop down and clasp over his. He clears his throat, and squeezes, lightly.

"Yeah, I guess we do."


End file.
